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Operating a culinary station suspended over the urban sprawl is utterly unlike any other kitchen on earth. The panoramic view might be breathtaking, with skyscrapers stretching in every direction as nightfall blazes across the glass facades, but beneath the glitter lies a silent, roaring chaos. There’s no moment to pause when the dinner rush hits at 5:30. The stoves scream with heat, pans clang like cymbals, and the chill never quite holds.

This vertical fortress brings its invisible obstacles. Service elevators stall during the dinner scramble, so every key component must be planned weeks ahead. Misplace a single herb and service grinds to a halt. We stockpile extras — not merely as backup — because delay is a luxury we can’t buy. During a snowstorm got delayed by a crash, and we reconstructed the entire menu using last-resort reserves because the standard was non-negotiable.

Sound here is a different beast. The city murmurs below, but up here, the clash of utensils mingles with the hiss of steam, urgent shouts from the line, and the occasional roar from the expeditor. Ear protection is mandatory — not for comfort — because our ears can’t take it. The kitchen never sleeps, even when the city does.

The oven-like climate is unforgiving. Even in winter, the kitchen refuses to cool below 85. The exhaust fans strain, but they’re never enough. When the last order clears, our uniforms are drenched, and we shower just to leave just to step into the cold. Many of us keep extra foot coverings nearby because blister risks are constant.

Still — an unspoken dignity in it. We’re not just cooking — we’re elevating memories. They ascend to this height to mark a promotion, to toast a win. They come for the view, but they stay for the flavor. We know it — in the quiet pause before they sigh, or when they search for your name.

We miss the dawn — our windows face away. But sometimes, as we slip onto the fire escape, we catch a glimpse of the city waking. The offices still glow, trucks begin their routes. And we know — we were part of something.

We are the silent force who keep the flame alive. Not for the Instagram likes, but because someone must. When your burners touch the sky, teletorni restoran you learn this truth: the most unforgettable dishes aren’t the ones that are plated with art — they’re forged in sweat.