It has probably been the longest, physically most challenging and taxing week of my life. Working in a kitchen is in no way glamorous or a bed of roses. I spend half of my day wearing these fashionable chef shoes, an awful white hairnet, and a variety of food smells and stains; lovely, no? Putain (fuck) and merde (shit) are probably the two most used words, and I have been criticized as a cochon (pig, which always means dirty and messy in French) and slow many, many times. The chefs are crazy/uptight/angry/unreasonable/scary/insane and I hope I never become like them. My hours are long, our lunch break is 10 minutes, and I work on the weekends…but I’m still looking forward to going back to work tomorrow.
Talk to me again in eight weeks and my answer may differ. A lot of the work is repetitive and once the novelty of the whole experience wears off, I’m sure the redundancy will start to get old. But for now, I’m still running on newbee energy.