It's All Fun and Games Until...

I am 100% lucky that I work at a restaurant that doesn't have a chef who unleashes profanities at everyone daily and that everyone else follows suit.  It's a fairly friendly environment, which I am oh so thankful for after months of envisioning a French version of Hell's Kitchen.  However, that doesn't mean that everyday is a fairytale and that we all just stand around holding hands and singing Disney songs together. 

First and foremost, the food is to be the best it can be (obviously).  When you make, cook, or plate a dish, it better be great or you will hear about it.  Example: being told that the salad I placed on top of an appetizer "actually needed to be pretty."  Ouch.  I had tried to make it look pretty and thought it did, but I guess it didn't pass the test.  Off came the salad and someone else made it pretty.

Second, speed is key.  I just can't believe how fast some people in the kitchen can work.  I try my best to work as fast as possible, but sometimes that means not so nice results (or leaving here this summer with only 9 fingers).  So, I prefer to work quickly but steadily so that I can produce a plate worthy of the restaurant and the client who is paying for it (and still keep all 10 digits).  The problem with this is that I am working next to people who have done this for years despite being so young and thus are steady and speedy all at the same time.  This can lead to them thinking I am a bit slow.  Example: a 20 year old telling me in French: vite, vite (hurry, hurry) while I am plating something because if s/he were doing it it would already be done.  Sounds like fun, huh?

Third, working clean is very important.  This point was drilled into us in culinary school.  Therefore, I work very hard to be as clean as possible.  However, I admit that there are some "petit cochon (little pig)" moments.  Example: I worked in patisserie this weekend with a chef who takes over when it is the patissier's day off.  We were working with chocolate which is notoriously messy.  We both seemed to have it everywhere and it showed on our aprons and coats and...on my pants.  And by pants, I mean the seat of my pants.  Chocolate.  On. My. Butt.  Awesome.  So, I try my best to wipe off the chocolate so it doesn't look completely like I had a preschool accident.  Once I had done all I could do to remove the stain, I bravely walked into the lion's den where I could hear the chef say, "Elle a du chocolat sur ses fesses (she has chocolate on her butt)."  Great.  Now, not only did I seem like a true petit cochon, but also having chocolate on my butt meant I had become the butt of everyone's jokes.

And so goes the life of a lowly stagiare :)