A GHOST IN THE MACHINE
If you are more than forty years old and are looking for a job in Miami or just trying to keep the one you have in the local industry, you’re facing a cultural and existential clusterfuck.
Let's give some updates about what's going on under the sun of South Florida.
I have learned the hard way, and I am far from being the only one lately that, in the modern corporate world, being blunt is not necessarily a good thing. Old pirates like me are in trouble because we have to water down your personality and polish our language. Which is quite a challenge for those of us who have been grinning in kitchens for more than two decades.
I know, I know, we take up a lot of space, and we make a lot of noise. But you need to understand that we come from a world, a very ancient world to you, where it was this exact character that drew us to the trade, made us good at it, and ultimately allowed us to thrive.
But that was then.
Now, out of the fucking blue, it’s that very character, which was an asset before, that has suddenly become a liability. And in order to survive in it, we have to become discreet, docile, and obedient. We are expected to trade our big mouth for social skills. Wait a minute, how the fuck am I supposed to fit a larger-than-life existence into a tiny QR code?
And now that I've talked to some of my friends, whether chefs or GMs that are the same age as I am, it's even worse if you’re on the market. Because your résumé needs to be as sharp as your chef's knife’s blade. And as it’s your ass on the grill this time, you need to be prepared for a ridiculous level of scrutiny.
Every single fucking gap in your career will be considered a bug in the system. Every position needs to be meticulously detailed and explained.
But the cherry on top: the recipe for a likable résumé requires entirely new ingredients. It needs to be optimized with very precise terminology. The kind that doesn’t impress a human being but seduces an algorithm within three seconds. What used to be called recruitment has degenerated into professional speed dating. And it’s fucking brutal.
Because AI doesn’t give a damn about your smile, your handshake, the way you’re dressed, or the way you carry yourself in a room. It only cares about how you showcase yourself as data. So if you want to hook its attention, you’d better speak its language. And apparently, metadata has become the new dirty talk.
We have officially entered an era where résumés are no longer written for recruiters or hiring managers; they are written for algorithms. And based on the information that you will provide, it will process your career, score it, and rank it. This technology doesn’t filter applications or screens applicants anymore; it scans information from a document that used to be a summary of your professional experience and is now sort of an identification card, a pass to get to the next level.
And on that biometric chart what matters most is not how extensive your experience is but the way you engineer it, and if you have not carefully and meticulously curated a collection of keywords designed to satisfy the software before another human being ever sees your name... then you are ignored or rejected in the best-case scenario.
Is there another one? Yes, the worst one. I am coming to it; give me a minute.
So in a nutshell, you can be competent for the position, but because your résumé failed to trigger the digital dopamine of the bot, you are fucked.
It is incredibly ironic that the piece of paper supposed to present your real-world capability is now judged by an artificial intelligence.
You are going to tell me it has always been the same. Your résumé always needed to be attractive, interesting, and appealing.
Yes, but not the same way.
There was a time when résumés were read, selected, or rejected by human beings. At least then, you had a vague idea of who you were pitching yourself to, and most importantly, the equation was clean:
A company needed a role filled.
You wanted that job.
You had an interview that led to you being hired or not.
One plus one plus one equaled three.
And at that game, my generation is at an automatic disadvantage because we spent our lives mastering a craft, and knowing the art of cooking, but not the art of coding. We were in it to satisfy customers, not digital gatekeepers.
Now, decades of hard-earned knowledge and skills are reduced to a game of keyword bingo. We are being graded by software that doesn't understand the difference between a résumé that looks good on screen and a professional who delivers in real life.
So we find ourselves trapped in a very bizarre paradox: the industry is starving for genuine talent and deep experience, yet the automated systems meant to find us are the very things that keep us out of it. Quite a mind job, don’t you think?
Personally, after thirty-three years in hospitality, I know how to use my knife, run a dining room, lead a kitchen, build a team, and handle guests, but ask me to master SEO, keywords, engagement loops, hashtags, metadata, AI prompts, reels, and algorithms… and suddenly I’m a moron.
I can carve a beef loin, fillet a fish, and French a rack of lamb. Confit, sear, and roast. Make sauces, reductions, emulsions, and soufflés. Navigate in the weeds and survive a Mother’s Day brunch or a Saturday night, but I am fucking clueless about how to format a post and pick the right hashtag to maximize the number of views. I'm not even sure one is related to another.
See, I have no fucking idea how this thing works because it’s absolute gibberish to me.
That’s why when I look at what the younger generation is able to make with a phone in five minutes, I’m genuinely impressed. They know the language, how the system works, and how to gain something from it.
I confess it makes me look like a village idiot, but still, I admire the skills.
And yet, it worries me because visibility has become a skill in itself—a primary metric of employability. And that particular skill, I can’t add it to my résumé. Because I suck at it.
I can make an impression in a room, but not on a reel.
And here’s another thing that I struggle to understand:
Every single day, hundreds of vacancies are advertised. But let me tell you what happens when you apply for a position that seems to fit your skills or your profile?
Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. No reply, no acknowledgment, not even rejection. The void in 5 fucking G.
Yet, simultaneously, we are bombarded with headlines claiming that companies are desperate and that there is a catastrophic staff shortage in hospitality. But try leaving your résumé searchable on platforms like Indeed and see if a single one of those desperate companies reaches out to you. Trust me, I've tried.
It looks like the more people are on the market for jobs, the more positions are available online. Which should be the exact opposite. It defies logic and common sense, no?
And it raises a legitimate question: are all these companies really hiring?
Are those offers even real?
Are these positions truly available?
I know there are three questions.
If I were to be a little cynical, I'd say it’s just become another corporate mechanism for data harvesting or a way to build databases. To monitor the market, collect résumés, and benchmark salaries just to create the illusion of growth.
I honestly don’t know the answer. But I do know this for sure: if finding a job now requires you to write for an algorithm rather than honestly describing your experience, then the hiring process is no longer about finding the best candidate. It is about finding the person who understands the software best.
So in the process of that revolution, what has fundamentally changed in hospitality?
Two things.
First, experience used to make us more employable; today, being visible often matters just as much. Maybe even more.
Second, we seek and reward visibility in an industry that has seen the rise of two new trends: ghost kitchens and now, ghost recruiting.
When the next trend of the kind rises from the underworld, I need to ask the question:
If we find another ghost in the machine, who we gonna call?
7/21/26
NEWSLETTER
YOUR SEAT AT THE TABLE STARTS HERE
NO SPAM.
NO SPIN.
THE GOOD STUFF ONLY
Sharp stories, honest conversations, and the occasional badly behaved opinion. Delivered when there’s something worth saying.
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© 2026 FOODNBULLSHIT All rights reserved.
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If you are more than forty years old and are looking for a job in Miami or just trying to keep the one you have in the local industry, you’re facing a cultural and existential clusterfuck.
Let's give some updates about what's going on under the sun of South Florida.
I have learned the hard way, and I am far from being the only one lately that, in the modern corporate world, being blunt is not necessarily a good thing. Old pirates like me are in trouble because we have to water down your personality and polish our language. Which is quite a challenge for those of us who have been grinning in kitchens for more than two decades.
I know, I know, we take up a lot of space, and we make a lot of noise. But you need to understand that we come from a world, a very ancient world to you, where it was this exact character that drew us to the trade, made us good at it, and ultimately allowed us to thrive.
But that was then.
Now, out of the fucking blue, it’s that very character, which was an asset before, that has suddenly become a liability. And in order to survive in it, we have to become discreet, docile, and obedient. We are expected to trade our big mouth for social skills. Wait a minute, how the fuck am I supposed to fit a larger-than-life existence into a tiny QR code?
And now that I've talked to some of my friends, whether chefs or GMs that are the same age as I am, it's even worse if you’re on the market. Because your résumé needs to be as sharp as your chef's knife’s blade. And as it’s your ass on the grill this time, you need to be prepared for a ridiculous level of scrutiny.
Every single fucking gap in your career will be considered a bug in the system. Every position needs to be meticulously detailed and explained.
But the cherry on top: the recipe for a likable résumé requires entirely new ingredients. It needs to be optimized with very precise terminology. The kind that doesn’t impress a human being but seduces an algorithm within three seconds. What used to be called recruitment has degenerated into professional speed dating. And it’s fucking brutal.
Because AI doesn’t give a damn about your smile, your handshake, the way you’re dressed, or the way you carry yourself in a room. It only cares about how you showcase yourself as data. So if you want to hook its attention, you’d better speak its language. And apparently, metadata has become the new dirty talk.
We have officially entered an era where résumés are no longer written for recruiters or hiring managers; they are written for algorithms. And based on the information that you will provide, it will process your career, score it, and rank it. This technology doesn’t filter applications or screens applicants anymore; it scans information from a document that used to be a summary of your professional experience and is now sort of an identification card, a pass to get to the next level.
And on that biometric chart what matters most is not how extensive your experience is but the way you engineer it, and if you have not carefully and meticulously curated a collection of keywords designed to satisfy the software before another human being ever sees your name... then you are ignored or rejected in the best-case scenario.
Is there another one? Yes, the worst one. I am coming to it; give me a minute.
So in a nutshell, you can be competent for the position, but because your résumé failed to trigger the digital dopamine of the bot, you are fucked.
It is incredibly ironic that the piece of paper supposed to present your real-world capability is now judged by an artificial intelligence.
You are going to tell me it has always been the same. Your résumé always needed to be attractive, interesting, and appealing.
Yes, but not the same way.
There was a time when résumés were read, selected, or rejected by human beings. At least then, you had a vague idea of who you were pitching yourself to, and most importantly, the equation was clean:
A company needed a role filled.
You wanted that job.
You had an interview that led to you being hired or not.
One plus one plus one equaled three.
And at that game, my generation is at an automatic disadvantage because we spent our lives mastering a craft, and knowing the art of cooking, but not the art of coding. We were in it to satisfy customers, not digital gatekeepers.
Now, decades of hard-earned knowledge and skills are reduced to a game of keyword bingo. We are being graded by software that doesn't understand the difference between a résumé that looks good on screen and a professional who delivers in real life.
So we find ourselves trapped in a very bizarre paradox: the industry is starving for genuine talent and deep experience, yet the automated systems meant to find us are the very things that keep us out of it. Quite a mind job, don’t you think?
Personally, after thirty-three years in hospitality, I know how to use my knife, run a dining room, lead a kitchen, build a team, and handle guests, but ask me to master SEO, keywords, engagement loops, hashtags, metadata, AI prompts, reels, and algorithms… and suddenly I’m a moron.
I can carve a beef loin, fillet a fish, and French a rack of lamb. Confit, sear, and roast. Make sauces, reductions, emulsions, and soufflés. Navigate in the weeds and survive a Mother’s Day brunch or a Saturday night, but I am fucking clueless about how to format a post and pick the right hashtag to maximize the number of views. I'm not even sure one is related to another.
See, I have no fucking idea how this thing works because it’s absolute gibberish to me.
That’s why when I look at what the younger generation is able to make with a phone in five minutes, I’m genuinely impressed. They know the language, how the system works, and how to gain something from it.
I confess it makes me look like a village idiot, but still, I admire the skills.
And yet, it worries me because visibility has become a skill in itself—a primary metric of employability. And that particular skill, I can’t add it to my résumé. Because I suck at it.
I can make an impression in a room, but not on a reel.
And here’s another thing that I struggle to understand:
Every single day, hundreds of vacancies are advertised. But let me tell you what happens when you apply for a position that seems to fit your skills or your profile.
Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. No reply, no acknowledgment, not even rejection. The void in 5 fucking G.
Yet, simultaneously, we are bombarded with headlines claiming that companies are desperate and that there is a catastrophic staff shortage in hospitality. But try leaving your résumé searchable on platforms like Indeed and see if a single one of those desperate companies reaches out to you. Trust me, I've tried.
It looks like the more people are on the market for jobs, the more positions are available online. Which should be the exact opposite. It defies logic and common sense, no?
And it raises a legitimate question: are all these companies really hiring?
Are those offers even real?
Are these positions truly available?
I know there are three questions.
If I were to be a little cynical, I'd say it’s just become another corporate mechanism for data harvesting or a way to build databases. To monitor the market, collect résumés, and benchmark salaries just to create the illusion of growth.
I honestly don’t know the answer. But I do know this for sure: if finding a job now requires you to write for an algorithm rather than honestly describing your experience, then the hiring process is no longer about finding the best candidate. It is about finding the person who understands the software best.
So in the process of that revolution, what has fundamentally changed in hospitality?
Two things.
First, experience used to make us more employable; today, being visible often matters just as much. Maybe even more.
Second, we seek and reward visibility in an industry that has seen the rise of two new trends: ghost kitchens and now, ghost recruiting.
When the next trend of the kind rises from the underworld, I need to ask the question:
If we find another ghost in the machine, who we gonna call?
A GHOST IN THE MACHINE
7/21/26
NEWSLETTER
NO SPAM.
NO SPIN.
THE GOOD STUFF ONLY
Sharp stories, honest conversations, and the occasional badly behaved opinion. Delivered when there’s something worth saying.
BY SIGNING UP, YOU AGREE TO RECEIVE EMAILS FROM FOODNBULLSHIT. UNSUBSCRIBE ANYTIME.
© 2026 FOODNBULLSHIT All rights reserved.