Illustrated chefs: Why kitchen artists are big on tattoos
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Kevin Sousa, owner and chef at Salt of the Earth restaurant in Garfield, shows his "salt and pepper" tattoos. -
Kevin Sousa of Salt of the Earth restaurant in Garfield -- "I just know it's something I've always liked." -
Keith Fuller shows off his ink. -
Zach Winghart of Winghart's Burger and Whiskey Bar. "Veritas" is Latin for "truth." -
Steve Lanzilotti, executive chef at Brik Room on Carson. -
Dustin Gardner, executive sous-chef at Casbah in Shadyside. -
Keith Fuller of Root 174, coming to Regent Square.
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Painful and permanent, tattoos used to be the mark of bikers, sailors and hard-core rock 'n' rollers. Today, just try finding someone under the age of 35 who doesn't have at least a little ink under their skin.
And if you're a hot young chef? No doubt your arms, legs, chest and -- in the case of one local culinary artist -- even your neck are a wild and colorful road map of where you've been and still hope to go, along with designs and ideas you find interesting.
"Chefs definitely get more tattoos than the average person," says Jason Lambert of Oakland's Black Cat Tattoos, the artist behind much of Pittsburgh's kitchen ink, "and they also tend to get more and bigger tattoos."
What's the deal with chefs and tattoos?
PG SLIDESHOWAre chefs, whose livelihoods depend on creativity, simply more expressive than regular folks? Or are they simply more macho (and therefore impervious to the pain associated with tattoos) because the fast-paced job is difficult, uncomfortable and also dangerous with all those knives, hot pans and open fires?
Here, we let five of Pittsburgh's most decorated chefs tell the stories behind their tattoos:
Chef/owner, Root 174 (opening in July), Regent Square
I was in the punk rock scene and very rebellious as a kid, so since I was 14, I wanted to be completely covered head to toe. I got my first the day I turned 18, a horrible tribal tattoo on my right arm. I just wanted one so bad and to see what it felt like. I threw up.
After that, I started a religious sleeve on my left arm because I love that kind of art. It's so beautiful. Then I crossed the collar line, which back then was a big thing.
In 1999, I got my throat and neck tattooed with a pair of birds -- a red robin on the right and a blue jay on the left, because I always liked nautical birds and old-school sailor stuff. There were bets on the table I'd only get the outline done before I wimped out, but I did it in one eight-hour sitting. I ended up making $150. Six months later, I got a sacred heart on my throat. Then I started on my hands.
I was pumped, but I don't think my boss in Philadelphia at the time was. He was like, "You're screwing yourself here. What do you want to be?" Two years ago I had my neck redone with the word "loyalty" under my chin. It means I will never break my word to relatives or the people I work for or who work for me.
I'm about 70 percent covered. My mother cried every day at the beginning, and still does. But I'm like, does it really matter now, Mom? The only parts I wouldn't do are the places you expect, and my face or hairline.
None of them felt great -- the loyalty tattoo felt like someone was sawing my tongue off -- but I enjoy the process. It teaches you to learn to convert pain into something else.
Tattoos have been glamorized by TV, and ours is a profession where it's easy to have them. We work hard and play hard and are a little bit macho. And we're all artists, so expressing yourself on skin is the same as expressing yourself on a plate.
First Published June 19, 2011 12:00 am
