Sloppy stacks of pancake towers, soft underfoot. They rise out of an endless abyss. Sweaty heat from unseen ovens. Metal and meat hanging from all around. The world is dark ugly baroque and enclosed and seems to go on forever.
Chefs navigate by swinging around on links, hooks, or ropes. One uses a kitchen projectile to blast a sunny side egg held quivering in a grate above another chef. This is what constitutes winning in the kitchen, I guess.