SERVICE NOT INCLUDED.
A LIFE IN RESTAURANTS.
Take a splash of Italian, a dash of Polish, and a hint of Normandy, and you have me. A mutt seasoned with salted butter. Stubborn, proud, hard-headed, and vindictive.
Perfumed by the smell of French baguette and bad intentions, my life adds up to bad decisions, countless mistakes, and an inconsistency that borders on genius.
Model at twenty years old, restaurant GM at thirty, executive chef at forty, writer at fifty… and a pain in the ass since day one.
In between: drugs, alcohol, car crashes, spectacular resignations, and relapses.
That’s my story—the journey of a magnificent moron who wasn’t looking for a job. but a shelter. A family…
And I found it in hospitality.
This is thirty years of my life in restaurants on both sides of the Atlantic—Paris, London, Saint-Barth’s, and Miami—with multi-million-dollar restaurants that close after six months, influencers who photograph but don’t eat, and people allergic to happiness.
All this, told without anesthesia and music running through it all. Because food is music you chew.
Here, you’ll run into line cooks on the edge of collapse and burned-out servers. Grumpy chefs and heroic sous-chefs. Friends, glorious idiots, and random ghosts passing through. Hellish services, glamorized burnouts, endless days, and pain-in-the-ass customers.
But also moments of absolute grace. A gang of maniacs bonded with napalm, gods in white, a kamikaze in high heels, and even a goddamn dog that knows more about love and loyalty than most people.
You’ll understand why brunch is a virus, Valentine’s Day is a thermonuclear war, and Mother’s Day is an annual trauma.
And above all, what this job costs us: worn-out bodies, relationships falling apart, and the loneliness of eating a sandwich at two in the morning.
No glitter. No Netflix. Just my truth—raw with a lot of guitar. The quest of a man searching for his dignity, the kind you lose in drugs and booze and stitch back together with the tip of a chef’s knife.
Bring your broken hearts, your ridiculous demands, and your bullshit requests.
The chef is waiting, knives sharpened.
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.
BY SIGNING UP, YOU AGREE TO RECEIVE EMAILS FROM FOODNBULLSHIT. UNSUBSCRIBE ANYTIME.
© 2026 FOODNBULLSHIT All rights reserved.
Contact:
alexandrefenot@gmail.com
Take a splash of Italian, a dash of Polish, and a hint of Normandy, and you have me. A mutt seasoned with salted butter. Stubborn, proud, hard-headed, and vindictive.
Perfumed by the smell of French baguette and bad intentions, my life adds up to bad decisions, countless mistakes, and an inconsistency that borders on genius.
Model at twenty years old, restaurant GM at thirty, executive chef at forty… In between: drugs, alcohol, car crashes, spectacular resignations, and relapses. I didn’t just hit rock bottom. I took a fucking lease there.
That’s my story—the journey of a magnificent idiot who wasn’t looking for a job. but a shelter. A family… And I found it in hospitality.
This is thirty years of my life in restaurants on both sides of the Atlantic—Paris, London, Saint-Barth’s, and Miami—with multi-million-dollar restaurants that close after six months, influencers who photograph but don’t eat, and people allergic to happiness.
All this, told without anesthesia and music running through it all. Because food is music you chew.
Here, you’ll run into line cooks on the edge of collapse and burned-out servers. Grumpy chefs and heroic sous-chefs. Friends, glorious idiots, and random ghosts passing through. Hellish services, glamorized burnouts, endless days, and pain-in-the-ass customers.
But also moments of absolute grace. A gang of maniacs bonded with napalm, gods in white, a kamikaze in high heels, and even a goddamn dog that knows more about love and loyalty than most people.
No glitter. No Netflix. Just my truth—raw with a lot of guitars. The quest of a man searching for his dignity, the kind you lose in drugs and booze and stitch back together with the tip of a chef’s knife.
Bring your broken hearts, your ridiculous demands, and your bullshit requests; the chef is waiting.
Knives sharpened.
SERVICE NOT INCLUDED.
A LIFE IN RESTAURANTS
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.
Contact:
alexandrefenot@gmail.com