Thank you, chef

Hey there! Lovely, warm summer day, and there may not be too many of these before the fleece comes out of the closet. But shorts and tie-dye t-shirts are my oeuvre at the moment, along with beach reads and binge streaming TV shows. Don't get me wrong, I'm also working on papers and grants, but not right now. Because I'm talking to you (much better than arranging figures for the nth time) and thinking about yesterday.

Because yesterday we had our weekly lab meeting, where the Molets were chastised for not taking appropriate care of our (very expensive) equipment. I pointed out that we are professionals and, as such, we value and care for our professional tools. Nature is capricious and sees to it that our experiments fail for so many possible reasons (not the least of which is that we are simply wrong), and it is impossible to control every variable. But if we control what we can control, we at least have a chance to get a hard-won answer from our time-consuming and expensive experiments. And while I was saying all of this, I kept flashing on a TV show I've been streaming called, The Bear. You might not have access to it, but if you do and haven't seen it, consider doing so. Each episode is short, entertaining and often pithy, and it introduced me to what goes on behind the scenes at a high-end restaurant.

Most of all, I was thinking about how the characters in The Bear are regularly cleaning, arranging and relying on their tools. Scrubbing down everything after a (very) hard and hectic day. Definitely not like our lab.

And then I remembered something else. In the show, everyone calls each other ‘Chef,’ whether or not they actually prepare food. It is used as a term of respect and, from what I can glean, it applies to everyone involved in managing the success of the enterprise. They say, “Thank you, Chef,” and “Well done, Chef,” and “Yes, Chef,” even when they want to hit the boss with a frying pan when he tells them to throw away a carefully prepared meal and try again. And this isn't just in The Bear. Later that day, I was chatting with a worker behind the counter at our institutional lunch place and she referred to her colleague as ‘Chef.’ I think it is a real thing. (When I bought my soft drink, I said “Thank you, Chef,” and she didn't bat an eye, although maybe I caught a smile).

I realized that we have no such thing in our profession, this biomedical research thing we do. Some of us are given the epithet ‘Professor,’ but this does not apply to everyone in the lab. However, professors profess, which is not the same thing as doing research. Professors teach, not do. This does apply to me; it has been ages since I did actual experiments, and if I did, I'm sure the Molets would clear out and worry about what is going to happen to the lab. So, ‘Professor’ is not going to be our version of ‘Chef.’ Almost everyone in the lab is a ‘Doctor’ (although mostly doctors of philosophy), so we could consider using Doctor as a term of respect, even if someone doesn't have the formal degree. But doctors doctor, treat the sick, and that is certainly not what we do (except, perhaps small animals). Besides, calling each other ‘Doctor’ brings to mind a ridiculous scene from the old movie, Spies Like Us, with Chevy Chase and Dan Akroyd saying ‘Doctor’ no less than forty-six times. “Thank you, Doctor,” won't work.

So unlike restaurant workers, we have no term of respect. And of course, what we do is very dependent on mutual respect. When respect in a lab faulters, it can be disastrous. One toxic individual who disrespects the technicians and other scientists can unravel the delicate balance of our high-pressure workplace.

It would be nice to have a shorthand mechanism to show and reinforce our mutual respect. If it becomes habit, so too might it become a habit to not only respect each other, but also our lab benches, sterile hoods, equipment and reagents. I've even thought about having us use ‘Chef.’ I mean, why is this only applied to those who make or manage meals? We craft the recipes for our experiments in advance. We carefully prepare, measure, mix, and incubate; we evaluate the results. And we often throw it all away and start again. Maybe we can call each other ‘Chef’? Chef Mole. Chef Aardvark. Chef Koala, Chef Red Fox, Chef Weasel. Actually, if we look into the etymology of ‘chef’ (I just did), it comes from the old French, meaning ‘head.’ Hence, ‘chef de cuisine,’ and from there to chef. But it was also used to describe the ‘chef du cabinet’ (private secretary), ‘chef du train’ (railway conductor), and ‘chef d'ecole’ (school head). Maybe we can invoke ‘chef du laboratoire’ and be ‘Chef’ in the lab? I say, “You forgot to run a control in this experiment, please go do it again.” “Yes, Chef!” the Molet responds. “You're welcome, Chef,” I say.

But no, I think Chef is taken. I can't see us calling each other ‘Chef.’ So, I asked AI. “If a chef is called ‘chef,’ what can we call a scientist?” AI quickly provided the answer: Scientist. Thanks, AI. Useful as always (he quipped, sarcastically). We can't use ‘Doctor,’ for the reasons I mentioned. Hmm. “Fud?” No, that's just silly.

Maybe we can think about what it is that we produce and backtrack from there. Well, I suggest that our product is knowledge. Not “truth” or “cures” – those are for philosophers and clinicians. If our product is knowledge (and I think it is), then what do we call purveyors of knowledge? One answer is ‘sage.’ Sage Mole. Sage Molet. Sage Hamster, Sage Mink, Sage Ocelot. It's very old fashioned. But maybe it is so old that it could be new again. So outré, that it could be whatever the opposite of outré is.

I know. It would never catch on. I checked the thesaurus, and it suggested ‘Egghead.’ Um, no. If you can think of something, let me know. Some title that we could use to show our respect, even when we aren't trying to. Anyway, thanks for listening. Meanwhile, consider the possibility that by showing everyone in the lab respect, this thing we do might be just a little bit better. Thank you, Chef.