Yawa-Attah had worked in many kitchens over the years, from Pullman, Washington State—a college town—through Springfield to St. Louis, Missouri, a large metropolitan city. She had spent time in college cafeterias, bustling hotel restaurants, boutique eateries specializing in delicate pastries or hearty pasta, and ethnic restaurants. Each kitchen came with its own challenges but was always built on good organization.
She had moved between roles—starting as a kitchen porter, scrubbing stacks of dishes; then as a salad assistant, chopping greens with practiced speed; and later as a pastry helper, whisking batter under the sharp eye of a head chef. As a cook at Magic Pan, she learned how a seamless layout allowed chefs to execute complex orders with precision. At Crepe House, the fluid design made transitioning between prep and plating almost intuitive. The German-inspired menu at the Garden Restaurant had shown her the importance of workflow discipline and standard recipes.
This was in the early 1980s, Yawa-Attah had given little thought to kitchen design. Her focus was on executing tasks efficiently—swift movements, spotless stations, and ingredients placed exactly where needed. The kitchens she worked in had been thoughtfully planned, allowing her to navigate without friction. If she ever hesitated, it was never due to a design flaw.
In Ghana, however, the kitchens she was observing and working with carried a different rhythm. Working in the capacity of a trainer, inspector, and occasional consultant, she had stepped into numerous restaurant and hotel kitchens. Some were impressive, well-run establishments. Others, however, presented challenges she hadn’t encountered before—obstructions like physical barriers that hindered movement, cramped workspaces that reduced efficiency, and poorly arranged stations that increased the risk of accidents. Insufficient storage compounded the problem, leading to cluttered, disorganized spaces where ingredients, supplies, and equipment were hard to access. In many cases, there were hardly any workstations reducing productivity.
These weren’t minor inconveniences—they were operational nightmares. Staff tripped over poorly positioned equipment, struggled for space when large orders came in, and wasted time navigating congested spaces. Every step was hindered by flawed design, making it harder to move efficiently, leading to delays, mistakes, and a decline in food quality.
Nowhere was this more evident than at Ave Maria, a boutique hotel where Yawa-Attah, representing Hospitality Associates, had been tasked with revamping service delivery. This isn’t a kitchen, she thought. The moment she stepped inside, the problems hit her like a wave of suffocating heat.
What Yawa-Attah initially thought as chopping stations were crammed against prep counters, forcing chefs into awkward movements. A refrigerator sat too far from the cooking area, stretching retrieval times. No separation existed between raw food prep and finished plating—cross-contamination waiting to happen at every turn. The makeshift dishwashing section sat uncomfortably close to the service exit, where waiters rushed through, dodging damp floors and misplaced crates.
The inefficiencies were undeniable, yet Yawa-Attah remained composed, frustration simmering beneath the surface. If the kitchen itself fought against the chefs, how could the food ever reach its full potential? She wondered.
At the Crossroads Hotel, Chef Kwame wiped sweat from his forehead as he sidestepped a prep cook wedged awkwardly between the salad station and the dishwashing area. The setup was confusing—clean plates placed too close to raw ingredients, increasing the risk of contamination.
“Hot pan, hot pan!” A frantic shout rang out as Sous-chef Adwoa rushed forward, holding a skillet of searing fish. But before she could maneuver through the narrow aisle, a server stepped back into her path. The collision sent food flying. Chaos followed.
Across the kitchen, the head chef barked orders, but poor workstation placement muffled his voice beneath the clatter of dishes and overlapping commands. Miscommunication led to mistakes, upsetting guests.
Deep in the pantry, Kitchen Assistant Mensah stood unsteadily on a shaky crate, reaching for ingredients stuffed into a corner—an unfortunate consequence of inadequate dry storage. As he grabbed a heavy sack of flour, the unstable stack wobbled, then collapsed.
Meanwhile, in the refrigeration area, Chef Kwame’s worst fears were realized. The cold storage unit had failed overnight, spoiling an entire shipment of fresh seafood. With dinner service fast approaching, last-minute substitutions were unavoidable, leaving guests disappointed with unfamiliar offerings.
As Yawa-Attah reflected on past kitchens, memories surfaced. Cold storage was no better at the Landing Inn, a guesthouse.
In a well-maintained kitchen, refrigeration units would be calibrated to specific temperatures for different food categories—seafood, meats, vegetables, and frozen products—each stored separately to prevent contamination. Preparation areas would have been clearly defined, with separate stations for meat and fish prep, vegetable washing, and pastry work.
Instead, cooks navigated a cramped workspace, their tasks blending into one another. Cross-contamination was inevitable. Without structured stations, everything—from slicing meat to peeling potatoes—happened on the same cluttered countertops.
In a properly functioning kitchen, production and final preparation areas would flow seamlessly. Vegetables, requiring shorter cooking times, would be placed near the plating station, while meats—demanding longer preparation—would have dedicated space. But disorder ruled. Hot dishes were mixed with raw ingredients, causing unnecessary delays and growing frustration.
The Gye Nyame Resort boasted luxury, but behind its polished dining room lay a kitchen on the verge of collapse. Yawa-Attah recalled similar spaces—places where frustrated chefs, exhausted kitchen assistants, and overwhelmed waiters battled not demanding guests, but a far more relentless adversary—the flawed designs.
At the Rojo Hotel, a single malfunctioning refrigerator struggled to hold fish, dairy, and tropical fruits at once. It was a disaster waiting to happen. The kitchen itself felt more like a furnace. Why isn’t heat factored into kitchen designs here? Yawa Attah wondered again.
The ventilation system struggled to keep up. Fryers hummed aggressively, smoke coiled through the air, and grease buildup near the exhaust vents reached dangerous levels. Then, it happened. A tired cook, overwhelmed by the heat, placed damp ingredients too close to the fryer. The oil exploded, splattering everywhere before the fire suppression system activated.
Yawa-Attah had a mental picture of all these chaotic scenes and knew the industry couldn’t continue like this. The problems weren’t just inconveniences—they were threats to safety and efficiency.
But would management listen before it was too late? If no one listened, it wouldn’t just be service that suffered—it would be the reputation of the entire industry.
Thankfully, in 2025, more kitchens have come to recognize the importance of good ergonomics, leading to a shift toward more comfortable, efficient, and safer workspaces.
Yet, much remains to be done. Too many kitchens of small hotels and standalone restaurants are still stuck in the past, burdened by outdated equipment and poor layouts. It’s up to us—the chefs, managers, trainers and owners—to drive change and create kitchens that truly support both staff and business success.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
