I’ve never seen an episode of Hell’s Kitchen, but my friends who watch it tell me they’re amazed at what goes on. I thought I had an idea of what it like to work at a three-star restaurant, but come to find out, I was sorely mistaken! Never have I been in an environment so intense or fast paced in all my life. Imagine a 350 square foot space, populated by 20 people, at temperatures nearing 95 degrees, orders are shouted across the room, tempers flare, the stakes are high. Customers are paying between 50 – 90 Euros per plate so every little detail must be perfect.

January 4 began like any other, except this was the first day of my internship at a three-star French restaurant. I’ve decided to stop using the restaurant’s name because I plan to share a lot – both good and bad. But for those of you who have been following my story, you know where I am (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)! I will also change all the names to protect the innocent and the guilty.

I arrive promptly at 8:30 AM so nervous that I'm shaking. I have no clue what to expect, if I will be able to understand French, or find anything in the vast maze of a basement. But after two months off, I’m ready for the challenge.

Chef Lucas greets me as I enter the kitchen with a smile. It’s been two months since my interview, so I’m glad he remembers who I am. He calls Amy (I’m using her real name because she’s my hero) over and has her show me the lockers. Amy has been working here for seven months. She began as an intern has been given a full time position. You can check out her stories on her fantastic blog.

We climb the five flights of stairs (there’s no elevator) and arrive out of breath at the staff locker rooms. I manage to find one that’s no empty, but of course it’s broken so I can’t lock it. No matter though, I no not to leave anything of real value inside. I slip into my chef’s uniform and wrap my knives in a Le Cordon Bleu towel. For the next two and a half months, I’ll be changing here four times a day with all the other chefs and servers. There are no women’s locker rooms, so we all have to see each other in our underwear. At first I was nervous about this, but now I could care less.

Chef Lucas introduces me to the team at the entremets station and tells me to work with them. At entremets, we are responsible for preparing all the vegetables and garnishes for each dish. I soon learn it’s one of the most intense and most challenging places in the kitchen.

Heading the three-person team is Victor, a young, laid back, chef who works quickly and quietly. He’s focused all the time and takes his job quite seriously. He rarely takes much of a break, even at meal times and is always the first of the team to arrive each day. His dedication amazes me. He’s new to entremets as of today, so I know he has a lot to prove to the executive chefs.

Victor’s right hand guy is The Kid – probably under 20, cocky, and very sure of himself. Unfortunately he’s been saddled with being my teacher for a day. A job I doubt he relishes in the least. He’s fast, knows his way around the kitchen, and has an ego to match. I learn later he’s still attending culinary school and as is common, works 15 days and then attends classes 15 days. When he speaks to me, I can barely understand what he says, and when I look at him with a blank stare, he grudgingly shows me what he’s talking about. There are times he can be rather nice to me, but mostly, I’m guessing he thinks I’m stupid.

Then there’s Jason. He’s just been hired and is learning the ropes just like I am. He rarely speaks to me, let alone looks me in the eye. I have a feeling most men think the kitchen is no place for a woman. He’s sharp though and quick on his feet. He learns quickly and seems to get along well with the rest of the team.

My first task of the day is to clean mushrooms – pound and pounds of them. Since wild mushrooms are in season right now, they’re featured in several main dishes. Each mushroom must be scraped of dirt and blemishes, cut into large pieces and put into another container. And it must be done quickly. It’s an easy job and I soon fall into the rhythm with a couple other people. As I’m working, I’m thinking to myself that this isn’t so bad. I don’t mind the repetitive of the work – it’s actually soothing my nerves. Staff and servers come in and out of the kitchen, so I get to see and meet most of the cast.

After about two hours – there are a lot of mushrooms to clean – we’re finished with our task and it’s time for lunch. The Kid is primarily responsible for making the lunch and dinner each day, and he does it with effortless efficiency. At 11:00 AM, we eat hurriedly from our plates, standing at our posts, not talking too much. One we’ve wolfed down our food, usually meat and starch, we head outside and breath some fresh air. By 11:30, we’re back inside, ready for the impending lunch rush.

Up until this point, I’ve felt relatively calm. But all that changes as soon as the first order comes in. Servers bring all the orders to Larry, a kind older gentleman with glasses. He bellows out the entire order over the noise of the kitchen so everyone knows what’s coming. Everyone responds with a resounding, “Oui, Monsieur!” (Yes Sir). The kitchen jumps to life and the circus begins. The amuse bouches are prepared and sent tableside. Then the entres (appetizers). Finally it’s time for the plats (main courses).

Victor calls out orders to The Kid, Jason and me. I learn how to put tiny amounts of foie gras and chopped black truffles on tiny slices of potato and heat them under the broiler. The potato slices are sandwiched together once the foie gras has melted and a large slice of black truffle is placed on top. These are used to decorate the plate for ris de veau (sweetbreads). Although we make eight little sandwiches at a time, only five are plated. The other three are held back for two minutes and then placed on a small plate. The server picks up the plate and takes it back out to the client as another little treat.

I’m amazed by how efficiently the kitchen runs. Timing is everything and the chefs begin to yell when things aren’t one time. The chefs don’t give Victor a break, yelling at him about something – I’m guessing it’s his timing. It’s his first day working the line at this station and already they’re screaming at him. But Victor takes it all in stride and intensifies his concentration. If he takes it personally, he certainly doesn’t let it show.

Because I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing, I try to stay out of the way. This is actually quite hard to do since the space we’re working in is tiny. It’s crowded with three people, so four is almost unbearable. I try to make myself as tiny as possible, quickly jumping out of the way as the entremets team prepares the garnishes. I feel quite useless and rather stupid. Occasionally orders are barked my way, half of which I have no idea what was said. I do my best, but I can tell I’m more of an annoyance than a help.

After two intense hours, lunch is over. We clean and then change into our street clothes. We have a two-hour break, so I wearily head back home on the Metro for a quick nap. I’m completely exhausted. Just as my head hits the pillow, it seems I have to get back up and make my way back.

At 4:30 PM, we begin a second round of prep. I’m responsible for washing the mushrooms prepared this morning and bringing them back upstairs to be sautéed. Victor asks me only to wash two of the three kinds – an easy task, I think. I rapidly wash each kind of mushroom six times to get rid of all the dirt. And here’s a little secret for you. When wild mushrooms are on the menu, I highly recommend you avoid them at all possible costs. Unless of course you want a little extra protein with you meal. When preparing the mushrooms this morning, I noticed several of them have little tiny worms. I asked the chef what to do, and he cut out most of the wormy parts, yet left some in. Mmmmmm…. makes you hungry, doesn’t it?!?

I triumphantly return with my washed mushrooms. The Kid takes one look at them and orders me to wash them another two times. Evidently they’re not clean enough. I do as told and return upstairs. As I’m working on another project, I notice Victor look at the mushrooms and me in dismay. Immediately my heart sinks. I can tell I’ve done something really wrong. He informs me I’ve washed the wrong kind. What we call chanterelles in the US are called giroles here. I was supposed to wash the other ones called chanterelle. Because mushrooms can’t be kept once they’re washed, I just ruined a very large quantity of very expensive mushrooms. I feel like a complete idiot.

I run rapidly downstairs, get out the right mushrooms and wash them hurriedly. Victor is now behind time due to my little mistake. I return again to the kitchen with my face aflame with shame. Victor is rather nice about it. He tells me I’ve made an expensive mistake and to be more careful next time. But he doesn’t yell at me, and for that, I’m so thankful.

Dinner service begins at 7:00 and can last as long as 11:00PM. Again orders come in at rapid pace, and it’s all I can do to get out of the way. I spend most my time trying to keep things clean and items put away when not in use. Several times I run downstairs to fetch more plates or ingredients. It takes all my energy and by 10:45, I feel like I’m about to fall over.

Finally the pressure starts to subside and the last order is called out. I’m drenched in sweat, and I hardly did a thing. As the last plate is on its way to the client, we wrap everything up and begin to clean. My feet ache, my lower back is screaming, and my head is swimming. Around 11:45, Victor tells me I can leave, and I thankfully climb the five flights of stairs to the locker room.

I’m home by 12:15, showered and in bed by 1:00 AM. Since tomorrow is Friday, we have to arrive early for the weekly deep clean. I set my alarm for 7:00 AM, and my head hits the pillow.

I did it. I survived! Now we’ll see what tomorrow will bring.

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