Before jumping into this article, I would like to acknowledge that this experience is probably not for everyone. If you are contact or smell reactive, for example, this would likely not be a safe situation. There is an inherent level of risk involved in the scenario I’m about to share, so please ensure you have researched and determined your personal safety if you are considering this path. If you are unsure, always speak to your allergist.
Can you work at a restaurant with severe food allergies?
When I was 19, I worked in an Italian restaurant as a barista and cocktail server for about a year. It was a busy corporate restaurant in suburbia, and I turned out a ton of espresso-based drinks; latte, macchiato, cappuccino, iced coffees, all accompanied by an amaretti cookie.
The irony was that I have anaphylactic food allergy to dairy and nuts (and peanuts, soy protein, and most legumes). I’ve had 6 anaphylactic reactions to dairy in my life, though none of them were while I was working as a barista.
So why did I decide to take a job that required me to work with milk all day? Well, I had come home from university for the summer and needed a job that had a flexible schedule so I could take summer credits at school 4 nights a week. A restaurant job was a great weekend job that paid tips and allowed me to focus on my schoolwork during the week. I also had a retail job at a cosmetics counter, but the hours disappeared in the summer as store traffic was low.
My mom sent me out one day and said I’d better go apply at this new restaurant and not to come home until I had got some kind of job there. During my interview, the manager asked if I wanted to work in the kitchen, but that seemed too difficult with my allergies as they used a lot of butter and cheese, and I wouldn’t be able to taste any of the dishes I would be cooking. They offered a hostess position, but it wasn’t what I had in mind. Then he offered the barista position and said that I could wear gloves if I felt more comfortable. That seemed like a good option. I knew that if it felt unsafe or became too challenging to be around my allergen I could always quit.
A couple important points to note:
I have never had an anaphylactic reaction from the smell or from skin contact. I’ve only had anaphylactic reactions from ingesting dairy.
I grew up in a house with milk, yogurt, cheese, and other dairy products around, so it was not foreign to me
I kept my purse with my Epi Pens and Benadryl at my work station so it was never out of arm’s reach
There was a hand washing sink at my station
To my pleasant surprise, I loved working as a barista and cocktail server. The hours were long and I often didn’t get home until after the bar closed at 2 am. It was an exciting environment. The restaurant was massive, and new employees came and went so often it was hard to keep track of. The pizza cook often made me a prosciutto and arugula pizza without cheese on it - it was delicious. I’d take it home with me or eat it at the bar before my shift started. A Canadian celebrity chef was part owner, and we had the craziest launch party when the restaurant opened. Other servers or cooks would hang out at the bar long after their shifts had ended just to have drinks and chat.
It was a fun environment for a 19 year old home from school and I was determined not to let my food allergy stand in my way.
I got along really well with the bar manager who was aware of my allergies. Because I was an adult and I had taken on this job that had an inherent level of risk working directly with the allergen, managing my safety was ultimately up to me. It was never going to be an allergen-free environment. If I felt I needed gloves or tongs, a new rag, more soap, etc. it was my responsibility to find those items in the restaurant to properly outfit myself.
There was a definite learning curve, and some embarrassing moments for me personally. The first time I steamed milk, I thought it had gone rancid. I had never smelled cooked milk before. I asked the other cocktail servers to smell it and they all looked at me like I had ten heads; the milk was fine, that’s what steamed milk smells like. The first time someone ordered a latte, I put a bit of foam on top to make it prettier. It was sent back, and I was confused. I had never had a latte before so I didn’t know that there should not be any foam. It was a learning experience, and as time went on I earned the reputation as the best foam maker in the restaurant. I had a formula down for making it super dense and frothy, and people requested that I make their cappuccinos. I even learned to make a daisy out of foam.
It felt really good to be in control of my allergen and to be able to work safely around it. Every time I touched the cleaning rag (used to clean down the steamers) I would wash my hands. I was very careful not to touch my face. If milk splattered (it happened only once or twice) I would calm myself down and think rationally about whether any hit my eyes or mouth. If it had, then I was ready to act accordingly. If it hadn’t, I would tell myself not to overthink it. During the time I worked as a barista, my allergy anxiety was at an all time low. I was proving to myself that I could trust myself.
It was really important to me that I didn’t get any free passes just because I had food allergy. I didn’t allow my work efficiency to lag behind others just because I had to be hyper vigilant about allergy safety. I wanted to perform well and be the best, regardless. As a kid, I was often cut so many breaks because I had to do things differently or couldn’t participate. I wanted none of that here. I just wanted to do well.
When the restaurant was swamped we all had to pick up other tasks and work as a team to get the food out and make customers happy. Barista duties were busiest at the end of each table sitting, when people finished their meals, and then again later in the night after the bar crowd had had a few drinks.
In the down time I was expected to make myself busy - running food from the kitchen, clearing dishes and scraping them in the dish pit (which was an insane environment with hip hop blasting, water spraying everywhere, and frantic servers scraping plates into massive trash bins), grating cheese for diners (I would use a clean napkin to hold the block of cheese, then wash my hands afterwards. I avoided this task whenever possible), cutting bread, wrapping cutlery, running drinks, and on and on. All of this while wearing heels, a tight pencil skirt, a tight oxford shirt, and an apron stuffed with change, pens, and notepads. When I got home each night I’d soak my feet in the tub and flake out into bed.
Working as a barista with anaphylactic allergies was a lot of fun, and often a challenge. But I learned so much, I grew, I gained confidence in myself. Sometimes I did wonder if I was doing the right thing working there, if I was putting myself at too much risk, but ultimately, nothing happened. None of my ana reactions in my life occurred at that job or during that time.
When the manager asked if I was coming back the following summer, I declined. I had passed my personal challenge and done my time. And I wouldn’t change a thing.
