America's Testosterone Kitchen

A very large toque is not unlike the long front of a sports car, if you catch my drift. Perhaps compensating for something lacking?

Gay, straight, fat, thin, tall, short, American, Italian, Mexican- they can't get enough of themselves.
The male chefs are big, they're loud.  When you get a bunch of them in a room together they call each other "dude" or "man" or "bro". This is usually in a conversation where they are one-upping each other. Who has worked more hours straight in a row, who gets the best weed, who has the worst burns, on and on. If a female so much as tries to open her mouth during one of these brag-fests, she will be completely talked over. There is no room for her in this jungle.
Male chefs bark orders out. They bond with other male chefs, even if they hate them. I've seen young, inexperienced and kind of dumb guys get accepted into the fold before a female would. Often by opening their mouth and bragging about something (i.e. secret bbq sauce, the most expensive wine they ever drank or how much weed they could/would/should/ smoke).
Even the nicest ones can't help themselves when it comes to being overbearing to their female counterparts. It's genetic.
I've seen women chefs who are mean, perhaps compulsive, downright nasty or crazy but it's just not the same thing. Not to say that female chefs don't have egos. Some of them have terrible ones and they get branded "bitches" of course. These gals aren't a picnic either.
Male chefs might call you "honey" or "sweetie" or "darling". Or I've gotten "Miss" from time to time.
No, that's "Chef" to you, buddy.
It's not mean spirited, it's really not. They are not being cruel. These guys are just full of themselves. The kitchen is the jungle, they are warriors who are sent to kill. They must do the tribal dance to impress one another. They must pound their chests and yell. They rattle their spears (knives) and see who has the biggest peace pipe and who has the best weed in it.
A female chef comes to the jungle in a different capacity. If she is a single mom like I was, she carries her babies on her back, quietly washes the laundry in the river, kills an animal, butchers it and cooks it. When she is done for the day, she cleans and goes to her hut. She does not have the time nor the need to show off.
The male chef must be heard. He needs underlings to be spellbound, colleagues to be impressed. The female has mouths to feed and is efficient in how she does it.
In my early days as a cook, I know that I missed out on possible promotions because I did not have time or frankly the need to hang around. In my first post-school job a way less qualified cook cut in front of me on the line. I worked pantry/salad station in the day, he did in the night. I constantly came in to find that he had used all the dressings without replenishing and left the low-boy a mess. Overall he wasn't that great but he just kissed up to the chef constantly.  If I had done the same, as a female employee it could easily have been misconstrued and would have been the cause of gossip. He was lazy and a putz but he was accepted into the tribe.
My former partner the pastry chef ( male plus artist = super ego) did not talk to me for two days when I suggested that though he was more experienced than I, since I would be putting in the same ungodly hours that maybe I should be paid the same amount of money as him.
Some of my best friends are men. I've gotten pretty tight with a number of male chefs. I have always enjoyed the camaraderie of the kitchen. Horsing around, crude jokes. I've been known to be just as bad as the guys are. It's just that like the proud peacock with his feathers fanned out, the male chef has a lot of bravado and can be very insecure down deep. He'll squawk if you threaten him. You must be careful when criticizing men. Truth is they have very delicate constitutions and can be crushed easily.
When it comes to strength, yes they can lift the 60qt stockpot or work with a bloody hand wrapped in side towels because they are too macho to go to the emergency room and later have 12 stitches and a wicked infection.
But it would be refreshing if just once in a while, during a who's got the biggest, bestest or greatest session, one of them might turn to the lady in the room and say, "What do you think?"