Between Clouds and Kitchens

It is funny how some mornings feel wrong from the beginning. This one was like that. After Easter, the calendar says Tuesday, but inside me it still feels like Monday. I sit there with my coffee, still half in the rhythm of holiday, and I think… if nothing matters for a moment — no money, no training, no common sense — what would I do now?

For me, it is very clear. I would not sit here long. I would drink my coffee, maybe in bed first, because that is important, that is a small ritual, you know… and then I stand up, put on my clothes, take my keys, and drive straight to the airport. Not for business. Not for stress. For my plane.

Yes, my plane. Because in my head, in my heart, I am a pilot.

I remember the time in the army, at the naval air station. I was not flying, I was on the ground, a mechanic, but I was always close. And the pilots — when they talked about flying, something happened to me. I stopped whatever I was doing. My ears… they opened like a radar. I listened. Every word. The way they described the sky, the movement, the responsibility… it was not just a job. It was something alive.

And I thought, this is it. This is what I would do if I could choose freely.

So in my dream, on that Tuesday-that-feels-like-Monday, I take off. I go southeast. Vietnam, Thailand, the Maldives… all these places where the light is different, where the sea is not just blue but… I don’t know… like glass with sunshine inside. I fly above the clouds, where it is always bright. No traffic, no noise, no problems. Just sky.

I love especially the moment when you start in the night and arrive in the day. This is magic for me. I had this once when I drove with my first wife to Sardinia. We started at eight in the evening, full dark, and then somewhere in Switzerland the sun came up over the mountains. The light hit the road, the rocks, everything changed slowly… I still feel that moment. For a pilot, this must be ten times better.

But you know me. I cannot only fly. I also think about food.

People always say, “Ralf, you should open a restaurant.” And yes, I love cooking. I really love it. But owning a restaurant? That is dangerous for me. Because when I work, I don’t stop. I go in the morning, then lunch, then dinner, and suddenly the whole day is gone and I am still standing there with my pots. No rhythm, no balance. That is not life for me.

Also, I have a small problem… I don’t like people looking into my pots while I cook. Not even my wife sometimes. When I cook, it is my zone. My timing, my taste, my process. And then someone comes and says, “Maybe less salt.” No. Please. Hands away. When it is finished, then we talk. Before that, no discussion.

So if I imagine a restaurant, I need two kitchens. One for the team, one for me. Like a test kitchen. A place where I can try things, play with ideas, without someone watching every second.

But if I am honest, there is another job I would take immediately. No thinking. No discussion.

Restaurant tester.

Ah… this is perfect. Flying and eating. Travelling, tasting, judging. I would write my application in five minutes. “I am your man.” Finished.

And now, funny enough, I already start a little bit. On the 18th of April, I am in the jury for the North German barbecue championship. Twelve teams. Three-course menus. Eight of us sitting there, smelling, tasting, judging.

It sounds easy, but it is not. You have to eat everything. Even when it is not good. Even when the meat is too raw or too burnt. You cannot say, “No, thank you.” It is your job. You taste, you decide. Good, bad, okay.

For me, it is simple. It must look good on the plate. The presentation is important. Then the smell. And then the taste. I am not a scientist. I don’t say, “Ah yes, this note, this spice…” No. If it tastes good for me, it is good. If not, negative point. Finished.

And after that? I go to my favorite hotel in Neumünster. An old steel factory. You sit at breakfast and above your head are these big cranes and metal beams. You feel the history. And in the evening… steak buffet. Good meat, simple, strong. That makes me happy again after a long day of judging.

My wife comes with me, but she is not in the jury. She walks around the exhibition, maybe looks at caravans, maybe finds a dog… who knows. We both enjoy in our own way. That is also important.

When I think about all my jobs — the army, Austrian companies, now an American company — I see different worlds. The military was sometimes fantastic, especially when we were abroad. Iceland, Italy, Canada… the people, the stories.

I remember one night in Iceland. Canadian soldiers invited us for something they called “moose milk.” I thought maybe it is something small. No. They cleaned a bathtub, filled it with milk, vodka, Kahlúa, ice… and then fifty people drinking from it. The next morning… not so fantastic. But the memory? Perfect.

Back at the base in Germany, it was different. Too much waiting. Too much nothing. You look out of the window for fifteen minutes and think about nothing. That is not good for me. I need movement, purpose.

But still, those experiences stay. The pilots, the machines, the stories… they shaped something in me.

If I take everything together — flying, food, discipline, tools, rhythm — maybe my real dream job is something else. Something I build.

A place where people cook themselves.

I guide them. I give them tools, ingredients, ideas. But they cook. They learn. Like I experienced once in Hamburg, in a professional kitchen. Small groups, good knives, fresh fish, new techniques. Cooking salmon in newspaper, burning outside but perfect inside… these moments open your mind.

That is what I like. Not just cooking, but showing people another way to think about cooking.

Later, when I retire, I want to do this more. Teach people. Maybe write children’s books. Cooking is a dream job. Writing is more for my soul. Quiet, personal.

Of course, every job has something I don’t like. For me, it is people who always know better. These “Klugscheißer.” They stand there, 18 years old, no experience, and tell you how to do things. This is difficult for me. But okay… you accept it. Because most people are good. And life is easier when you focus on that.

In the end, for me, the most important thing is freedom. Not fun every second. Freedom. To choose, to move, to live.

If I ever open a restaurant, it will be mostly fish. Maybe 70%. Good fish. Clean, fresh. The rest — beef, but only the best: Galloway, Angus, Highland. And I would make something like tastings, same dish, different meat, so people can learn the difference.

And the best part? The guests become the jury. They decide what stays on the menu. Not me. That keeps it honest.

So what is a dream job? For me… I think you find it. You feel it. Like when I heard the pilots talking, or when I stand in a kitchen with good tools and good products.

It is like a good meal. You recognize it immediately.

And sometimes, on a Tuesday that feels like Monday, with a coffee in your hand… you can already taste it a little bit.