Cooking

Like many restaurants, my kitchen was staffed largely by cooks/runners/dishwashers of Latin American origin, particularly Mexicans from the state of Puebla. This made sense, given that we were cooking Latin-influenced food, but you’ll find Mexican cooks everywhere in New York, from diners to Chinese restaurants to fine dining.

There are many great cultural exchanges to be had from hanging out with Latino cooks, from hearing the latest reggaeton to learning the true meaning of Cinco de Mayo. (Turns out it’s not just about cheap margaritas.) But as you while away hours peeling yucca in the slow afternoon, sometimes the conversation takes a turn for the serious. You ponder aloud: what you’re doing with your life, what your dreams are, who you love, where it all went wrong. You share your hopes for your family, your fears that you’re not good enough, your ambitions to go to college. You tell your life story, how you came to the US and found your footing here. You do all this while crammed into a closet-sized space, with tweezers in one hand and a fish fillet in the other. This is the trench.

Undeterred by how quickly I’d flunked out of my first kitchen, I immediately set about finding a new one. Maybe a pizzeria? Pizza is my all-time favorite comfort food after all. I emailed a neighborhood Neapolitan pizzeria and got no reply. What about a sushi restaurant? I stopped by a sushi restaurant and asked to apprentice myself to the chef; he didn’t even want to talk to me. (Wait, was this a hint that I should come back 300 more times?) I kept walking and strode into a Latin American restaurant, one that I knew was helmed by a chef-owner known to use seasonal and local ingredients. It was busy but not slammed, the kitchen was comfortably large and relatively cool, and the staff was friendly and encouraging when I explained that I’d like to come in as an intern. As I left, the chef’s mother caught my elbow. “I overheard your conversation just now, and he definitely takes students in from time to time, so I think it will work out!” Things were looking much brighter.

After 22 classes and 110 hours in the kitchens, I am sad but proud to have finished the Culinary Techniques course at the International Culinary Center.

We began on day one by struggling to chop some onions and carrots, and trying to memorize the French names of all the new equipment. Some of us cut ourselves simply pulling knives out of our bags. Somehow that lesson took five hours to cover. We were green as the tray of herbs that was passed around for an identification lesson.

For a year while attending the University of Gastronomic Sciences, I was constantly asked, “How’s culinary school? Are you going to be a chef?” I would patiently explain that no, that’s not really what gastronomy is about.

Don’t get me wrong, I spent A LOT of time cooking during that year, with some of the freshest, most affordable produce I’ve ever seen in my life. Our class potlucks were lavish, internationally diverse and subtly competitive; everyone worked hard to bring their A-game to the table. Since coming to New York (land of take-out and tiny kitchens), I have yet to be surrounded by cooks in the same intensity and density.

The sort of sidewalk message I pass on the way to work. I love Brooklyn.

Someone once asked me if I am like a shark—if I stop moving, will I die? Which is to say, I have never been one for being idle. But this time, I may have outdone myself. Right now, I am simultaneously a full-time student and a full-time employee. Score, I have created a monstrosity that will truly screw with BLS unemployment statistics.

Grad school being what it is, I haven’t had as much free time as I would like for inspired cooking, resorting instead to a weekly routine of nourishing (albeit slightly boring) pastas, salads and sandwiches. Compounding the problem is our apartment’s lack of oven, and my perennial struggle to find ingredients that are not readily available in Italian markets. (This afternoon, I searched high and low to find fresh dill. I miss the herb stand at Green City Market.) It would also be highly helpful to have a blender. As Danielle put it, never before in my life have I talked about food so much without really making it. O.o