Making of a Chef: The Countdown Begins

Cari graduates from cooking school!

I wanted to wait to write this post until the official pictures were ready, but it seems like the photographer is dragging his feet, so you'll have to make do for now with the silly pictures we took at home.

Not only was the graduation ceremony extremely gorgeous (in a private manor on the same street as the presidential residence) but I managed to finish in the top half of my class!  Not bad, says I, when about half the class already had professional cooking experience.

But the real adventure begins now.  In two weeks I begin my internship in the Michelin-starred L'Angle du Faubourg.

I went in to meet the head chef, sign papers, etc.  It's scary meeting a new boss, not to mention when the whole thing is in a foreign language.  So I gather up all my courage, push through the front door of the restaurant and ask for the head chef.  He appears.  I introduce myself.  This is going okay so far.

Then the head chef starts speaking.  My palms go sweaty.  He speaks so quietly, I can't understand a word he's saying. 

Of course, I can't admit this, because what good will I be in the kitchen if I can't understand him?  I stand, frozen, staring intently at his mouth, trying to read his lips.  He starts to look at me strangely.

I hear him tell me that I will get to spend two weeks at every station in the kitchen.  This should be good news.  Our cooking teachers warned us  about students quitting their three-star internships because they peeled potatoes and washed dishes the whole time.  This is why I had chosen a 1-star, to get some real cooking experience.  But by the time he tells me this, I am looking around at the modern, elegant dining room thinking, holy crap, he doesn't want me grilling fish for his clients!   Can't I just peel potatoes?  That's about all I feel qualified to do.

I also heard him tell me that the hours were 8 am to midnight with a two-hour break at mid-day.  He was probably speaking too quietly for me to hear him when he spoke about the amazing benefits that go with those hours.

Luckily, standing between me and my death by kitchen firing squad is a French country wedding and a vacation in Biarritz.  Thank God!  Now, I just have to find my camera . . .