Almost everyone that I know in advertising at some point of time wants to get out of it. They dream of becoming chefs, restaurant owners, DJs and bartenders. I was one of the lucky few that actually did get away. Right at a time in the prime of my career I quit my job and took the plunge into a world very few are privileged to venture into.
The world of professional cooking is quite a closely guarded secret. With a few exceptions like Kitchen Confidential by Chef Antony Bourdain, there have not been too many books that delve into what actually happens behind the swinging doors of a restaurant.
I had the privilege of studying the art of cuisine at the world famous Le Cordon Bleu School in Paris. A school that has the distinction of being the premier cooking school in the world.
The journey into the kitchen was exciting and exhilarating and at times fraught with peril. I learnt that danger lurks in every corner of the kitchen. You are constantly surrounded by fire and burning hot ovens and 12 inch long razor sharp knife blades. And let us not forget the frisky French Chefs. I learnt to deal with each of these in turn during my ‘stage’ (a fancy French word for an internship) at a two Michelin star restaurant ‘La Terrasse’ in the south of France in the charming little sea side town of Juan Les Pins which is famous for its annual Jazz festival.
Many of the ex-students of Le Cordon Bleu had warned me about French chefs. I had heard stories of girls being locked into walk-in refrigerators and asked to perform sexual favours if they wanted to get out. No one I knew had actually managed to last the three months of the ‘stage’. If the Chefs didn’t drive them out it were the fifteen hour working days where you are too exhausted to even sleep.
I was determined to do it. It was something I had to prove to myself, that I was tough enough and strong enough to survive just about anything. I choose Juan les Pins because I was sick of the gloomy Paris weather and I craved the sun, so I thought what better place than the Cote d’azur, and I was not disappointed. Although it was still cold in April, but it was sunny and the sea was a clear bright blue.
Before I left Paris I had already been pre-warned about Chef Morrisett. The first time I met him I felt he was an imposing personality with a very impressive moustache, eyes that seem to bore into your soul and photographs of naked women in his office. I have to admit that in that instant, I was scared.
The next few months at La Terrace were probably the most emotionally turbulent for me. I came very close to quitting, very often, but I survived. I learnt much more than I ever expected to learn. Not just about food, but I learnt a lot more about myself. I survived groping Chefs, slicing the tip of my thumb off (if grew back), living in a small room with three other women and of course the piece de la resistance which was a third degree burn across my right arm.
I learnt that the world of the French kitchen is truly a man’s world and you have to be tough enough physically and mentally to survive it. If you burn/ cut yourself you don’t cry but just go back to plating the fish that caused you the excruciating burn. If you are sleepy and tired you just drink another shot of coffee and last another few hours.
There were many wonderful experiences too. Like being dead tired and hungry as hell and getting yourself a hot spicy sandwich with fries and a beer and sitting by the beach at odd hours in the morning. Like swimming in the wonderful Mediterranean Sea with fish swimming just below you. And of course the amazing people you meet. The charming Italian that made each day in the kitchen more bearable. The two Indians I made life long friends with. And the incredibly nice French people (yes there were some nice ones).
As much as I may crib about my time at Juan, I know it was probably the best four months of my life. A time and a place where I really learnt to appreciate good food. A place where all that I had learnt at Le Cordon Bleu was put into practise and a place where I came away physically scarred for life but with some of the best memories ever.
The world of professional cooking is quite a closely guarded secret. With a few exceptions like Kitchen Confidential by Chef Antony Bourdain, there have not been too many books that delve into what actually happens behind the swinging doors of a restaurant.
I had the privilege of studying the art of cuisine at the world famous Le Cordon Bleu School in Paris. A school that has the distinction of being the premier cooking school in the world.
The journey into the kitchen was exciting and exhilarating and at times fraught with peril. I learnt that danger lurks in every corner of the kitchen. You are constantly surrounded by fire and burning hot ovens and 12 inch long razor sharp knife blades. And let us not forget the frisky French Chefs. I learnt to deal with each of these in turn during my ‘stage’ (a fancy French word for an internship) at a two Michelin star restaurant ‘La Terrasse’ in the south of France in the charming little sea side town of Juan Les Pins which is famous for its annual Jazz festival.
Many of the ex-students of Le Cordon Bleu had warned me about French chefs. I had heard stories of girls being locked into walk-in refrigerators and asked to perform sexual favours if they wanted to get out. No one I knew had actually managed to last the three months of the ‘stage’. If the Chefs didn’t drive them out it were the fifteen hour working days where you are too exhausted to even sleep.
I was determined to do it. It was something I had to prove to myself, that I was tough enough and strong enough to survive just about anything. I choose Juan les Pins because I was sick of the gloomy Paris weather and I craved the sun, so I thought what better place than the Cote d’azur, and I was not disappointed. Although it was still cold in April, but it was sunny and the sea was a clear bright blue.
Before I left Paris I had already been pre-warned about Chef Morrisett. The first time I met him I felt he was an imposing personality with a very impressive moustache, eyes that seem to bore into your soul and photographs of naked women in his office. I have to admit that in that instant, I was scared.
The next few months at La Terrace were probably the most emotionally turbulent for me. I came very close to quitting, very often, but I survived. I learnt much more than I ever expected to learn. Not just about food, but I learnt a lot more about myself. I survived groping Chefs, slicing the tip of my thumb off (if grew back), living in a small room with three other women and of course the piece de la resistance which was a third degree burn across my right arm.
I learnt that the world of the French kitchen is truly a man’s world and you have to be tough enough physically and mentally to survive it. If you burn/ cut yourself you don’t cry but just go back to plating the fish that caused you the excruciating burn. If you are sleepy and tired you just drink another shot of coffee and last another few hours.
There were many wonderful experiences too. Like being dead tired and hungry as hell and getting yourself a hot spicy sandwich with fries and a beer and sitting by the beach at odd hours in the morning. Like swimming in the wonderful Mediterranean Sea with fish swimming just below you. And of course the amazing people you meet. The charming Italian that made each day in the kitchen more bearable. The two Indians I made life long friends with. And the incredibly nice French people (yes there were some nice ones).
As much as I may crib about my time at Juan, I know it was probably the best four months of my life. A time and a place where I really learnt to appreciate good food. A place where all that I had learnt at Le Cordon Bleu was put into practise and a place where I came away physically scarred for life but with some of the best memories ever.
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ReplyDeleteSounds quite an adventure .. Giving up a job and following your passion..! I envy you..
ReplyDeletewow superb ...hats of to u tarina
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