Despite the exhausting hours, backbreaking work, endless yelling, and a general attitude of malcontent among the staff, I will miss it. Even though I had days where all I wanted to do was rip off my apron, throw it on the floor and scream, “I quit!” I guess I really did enjoy myself. You can see more pictures here.

After the first month, I was used to only getting six hours of sleep a night. My body became familiar with the feeling of fatigue. Even the yelling bothered me less and less. Perhaps I became desensitized in a way. Or maybe I was just used to my environment.

There are several things I’ll miss. First and foremost are the people. They really did become like my family, although a very dysfunctional one at that. The two executive chefs were always very kind with me – never yelling at me when I made mistakes. The sous chef I worked for my last two weeks was a great teacher – incredibly patient, even when I had to be told things several times. He even let me cook on the line during service – me, an intern, cooking on the line in one of the top 50 restaurants in the world. Who would have thought?

And then there are my friends. We ate together, traded stories, handled sacks of leaky garbage, got yelled at, and talked about food. I couldn’t have done this job without them, especially one in particular. They kept me together when I felt like I was going to crack and offered me sane words of advice. They’re the reason why I made it though in one piece.

My last two weeks I worked at the meat station with one of the sous chefs. In the mornings I would de-bone the pigeons, cut apart the chickens, remove the membranes from the sweetbreads, de-nerve and chop chicken livers, and hack up carcasses into tiny pieces. I finally got my hands dirty so to speak. So dirty in fact that I had to paint my nails the week because I can’t get the blood out. Meat is fascinating to work with and cook, as long as you have a high tolerance for what most people would consider disgusting.

I’ll never forget the feeling of cutting open chickens and pigeons and pulling out all the organs in one swoop. Not will I forget the sharp sounds of my cleaver as it hacked through bones, tendons and muscle. I equate morning with the smell of burnt chicken feathers (it’s necessary to remove any leftover down with a blowtorch). I like the rhythmic movement of slicing meat away from bones. Removing the thin membrane from sweetbreads became like a puzzle – figuring out how to lift off the membrane without tearing the meat; picking off the globs of fat surrounding the tissue; seeking ut the blood vessels with my fingertips and gently pulling them free.

During service, I had several responsibilities. When an order was announced, I’d pull out the corresponding meat and get it ready for cooking. I seared sweetbreads, foie gras, and lamb. I’d prepare the elaborate foil wrapping for the chicken. Normally temperatures at our station were a good 20 – 30 degrees hotter than amuse bouche, so sweating became an understatement. When I’d peel off my chef’s uniform at the end of the day, I could actually ring sections out.

But I loved it.

Last week, one of the executive chefs asked me to stay another week. I actually gave it some serious thought. But in the end, I declined. I need some time for me before I begin the next chapter in my culinary adventures in Paris.

A bientot mes amis de la restaurant. I will see you again soon…

2 Comments  Leave a Comment