I was an emotional shipwreck the whole last day of my job cooking at a 3-star restaurant…

I arrived at 8AM in the morning and began my daily routine. As I was hacking apart wild bird carcasses for the gibier jus tears started coming uncontrollably. The more I tried to hide my feelings the more I cried. At one point I had to crouch down beneath the counters so the rest of the kitchen couldn’t see me sobbing away. Then, of course, everyone in the restaurant including the waitstaff started coming by my station to ask if it was true that I was really leaving which brought on even more tears.

On top of being upset I was tired too. I woke up at 3AM the night before and couldn’t get back to bed so I was working on 4 hours of sleep. Anyone who knows me, knows that I turn into a monster without sleep. As the morning preparation continued my sadness strangely turned into general annoyance.

I was irked that one of my comrades wouldn’t let me use the large skillet I needed to cook the staff lunch. He claimed he was “about to use it” but didn’t touch it for 45 minutes. (I noted the time on the clock) Normally I would have let this go, but instead I found myself outrageously angered. I threw the steaks I was cooking for our lunch into a smaller skillet of smoking hot oil like a crazed mad woman and seasoned it like a maniac – I’ve never twisted the pepper mill so furiously in all my life!

I went to make coffee after our staff lunch, but the barista wouldn’t let me use the two prong espresso grip, only the single grip. I asked for the double and he said no. I saw his lunch that he was happily eating and asked if it was good. “Ah oui, j’aime bien ça”. In French I reminded him that I cook him lunch and dinner every single day, and it’s my last day, and I would like the double espresso grip so I don’t have to spend 15 minutes to make my coffee. This sent him into a temper tantrum that far surpassed mine and sent me back to my station crying…again…

Service began and we were full to the maximum capacity. All though I wasn’t in the mood to work hard, the fast pace kept my mind off leaving. I was able to channel my deadly mix of emotions into cooking the food instead of fighting with everyone around me.

I came home after lunch service and slept for one hour and then returned for dinner with 4 bottles of champagne. Traditionally the person leaving buys champagne for the staff and everyone shares a glass together at the end of service. To me this is a strange custom because one would think the restaurant would provide the beverages. I really did not want to do it. Not because I didn’t want shill out the big bucks for a couple bottles, but because I knew I wouldn’t emotionally be able to handle it. I’m a big baby when it comes to saying goodbye – what can I say?

The night service was not as busy as lunch and my emotions ping-ponged back and forth between sadness and anger. At the beginning of the shift I had received a letter that simply stated my employment for eight months. This letter sent me through the roof: “Eight months! I’ve worked here for eight months 14 hours a day often 6 days a week and all I get is a lousy letter confirming my employment? Why am I buying champagne? This is outrageous! Don’t they care that I’m leaving!?!?! Don’t they care about all the personal sacrifices I’ve made for almost a year now???”

The last order came in and again I started crying. But finally, I opened the champagne and drank with the chefs and all the cooks and after two glasses my tears subsided and I was able to laugh again. It was a little funny to me to see the young guys vocalizing their desire for my position. As soon as one of them said he would be interested in my job, they all jumped in to make their interests known. Just as I expected, all the guys want to cook meat. For now no one will take my place. I’m not quite sure why …

To finish the evening, my boss on behalf of the entire staff gave me a chef’s jacket signed by everyone and two huge global knives. Everyone knows that I’m tired of meat and so the knives are for the next two stations that hopefully I will get to work at when I return (after my work visa is sorted out). They are the most expensive knives I will ever own: a 24cm filleting flexible global knife for fish and an 18cm global knife for vegetables. A Very cool and unexpected present. And yes, this brought on another flood of tears.

But wait till I tell you about the lunch I had the next day…

I have some friends in town that wanted to eat at the restaurant so I agreed to accompany them. It felt a little strange to be returning to work to eat and not to cook. Especially knowing that my boss was going to be working alone and probably pulling his hair out without help. Also, I had cried so much the day before I felt like an idiot returning. Eyes swollen, I met my friends at the restaurant. When I arrived all the servers and everyone greeted me like I was an old friend. Even Guy Savoy gave me two kisses!

We sat down and awaited our menus which never came. Instead Guy Savoy created a menu for us that was extraordinary. We began with a truffle millefuille and then ate our way through caviar, sea bass, artichoke soup, and finally truffle foie gras sausage ( that I had made just the day before with the sous chef John Baptiste). He ordered us an array of desserts including the blood orange gelée/sorbet and ending with a dessert called “noir” which is an ode to dark chocolate with zest of lime and black pepper. Delicious. And the sommelier brought us wine to taste with every course and reflilled our glasses as soon as we had finished one.

I was so entranced with the food and my company – okay and all the wine too! – that I failed to notice that we were the last table. I finally asked for the check but the Maitre D came back and whispered in my ear that is was a present from Monsieur Guy Savoy.

We left a little tipsy but positively glowing from our outrageously delicious meal. When I arrived home, I threw my high heels on the floor and climbed into bed. Pulling my duvet up to my ears I drifted off into a happy food comma. Feeling like a well fed princess I couldn’t help but to think: that meal was worth those eight months of work – that meal was worth everything…

Technorati Tags: , , , , ,