Today my restaurant family gathered to say goodbye to one of our co-workers, Peggy "Leggs" Pivec...
Eight years ago my husband got a job as a cook at the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Greensboro, Georgia. He was several weeks into the gig when his phone rang while we were enjoying a rare night off together. "It's work, I have to take this," he said, and I sipped my drink and proceeded to listen to his side of the conversation. There was talk of prep lists and food orders, and then, to my surprise, he said, "I love you too. Talk to you later."
"Love you too?!" I exclaimed.
My husband shut his eyes and shook his head. "That's just Leggs. It's a woman I work with."
He wasn't making it better for himself.
"She just...She's Leggs," he stammered, and began to describe a woman who I would later learn was indescribable.
But I will try.
To put it simply, Leggs was a badass. She was mouthy and loud and cursed like a sailor. She blasted rap music while doing her prep work and bitched about management to whoever would listen. She was my neighbor, and if we ever got out of work together I would make sure she left the parking lot first. Otherwise, she'd tailgate me the whole way home. Is it any surprise that Leggs drove like a bat out of hell? No, it's not.
But like every true softie, that gruff exterior hid a heart of gold -- as I described above, she signed off of even benign phone conversations with a warm "love you." She loved giving people cards to let them know she thought of them. Last Mother's Day she got flowers for all the mothers on staff. On her days off she brought food to the other cooks, and when she worked she made food for the hungry stewards at the end of a shift. She shared pictures of her cat Crunches along with the animals her friends had adopted as well. She caught caterpillars and played pretend with my son. If you needed anything, Leggs was there for you. She wanted to help, and didn't wait to be asked.
But what makes me really love Leggs is that she was quintessentially restaurant. The people in food & beverage love to consider themselves outcasts and renegades. No matter how much Food Network likes to whitewash the position of chef, a lot of us in this line of work love to stay up late, drink, curse, and dabble in drugs, and like most of us, Leggs simply didn't fit into the 9-5. If the staff of restaurants are the island of misfit toys, then Leggs was our fucking queen.
What matters in a restaurant is the work. Leggs showed up and did the work. Leggs' work was good. The next time I see a 20- or 30-year old coworker -- or myself -- complaining about a headache or calling off because we're hungover, I'll remind myself that Leggs showed up on the line into her sixties. Think about that the next time you're tired. Leggs needed shoulder surgery for months and toughed it out on the line. She didn't whine about it. She simply showed up. She did the work all day. And her work was good.
In the beginning, when Leggs finally went away for her surgery, my co-workers and I would say, "Isn't it so quiet around here?" as if it were a good thing. No one was blasting 90's rap or screaming "HOT COMING THROUGH" at the end of the night. No one was asking us to hand them the "magilla," which is Leggs' catchall word for whatever thing she wanted you to give her -- ten seconds ago -- but couldn't remember the name of. Yes, we enjoyed a few days of silence when she left for her surgery. And now that we know Leggs isn't coming back, we say with sadness, "Isn't it quiet around here?"
If there is anything I've learned from Leggs then it is to be unabashedly, unashamedly, YOURSELF. She said what she meant and she did what she wanted, and everyone respected her for it. I used to love watching people meet Leggs for the first time. I'd sit back and spy on new cooks who were already nervous to be working for a fancy Ritz-Carlton, as they were introduced to one of the most real women they'd ever encounter in a kitchen. I know that I will never meet another person that stands out and demands attention the way she did. In that room today there were people who have cumulatively worked in hundreds of restaurants over their career, and I know that in the thousands of people we’ve met in the business, there’s only been one Leggs. She's unforgettable, and she will be missed.
