What you learn when you intern...

... for a Culinary Internship at your office kitchen.

Miracles happen when you're united.

I'm always awed by a line I recall from childhood Bible verse recitals 'And the Lord said, Behold, the people is one, and they have all one language; and this they begin to do: and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do.'

The gods, my child, the gods declared that if they were one, nothing that they set the people set their minds to, would be impossible.

But back to the kitchen.

I entered, most nervous and apprehensive, to a kitchen filled with people from all races and backgrounds. Some of them didn't speak English, most didn't bother conversing but no one cared. No one cared for they were bound together by a common purpose, a common fascination, a common love; food.

Unity is strength, baby, unity is simple awe-inspiring strength. So pay attention to lasting friendships, to time consuming bondings, to common interests, to unreliable people. Unity is strength. Little drops of water doth an ocean make. The sum is infinitely more impactful than its individual parts.

Than its individual parts.

You don't have to do it all.

Your mother, dearest baby, your mother is a firm believer of the fact that you need to be good at some things, you cannot be good at everything and you don't need to try. Your mother also believes that what will save you and set you free is not the weaknesses that you try forever to master but the strengths that are part and parcel of who you are and what makes you different. When you’re pushed against a wall, what will save you is your instinctive inherent strengths, not the weaknesses you were attempting to better.

You can be the Jack of all trades and the master of one and that’s OK, it’s really OK that you’re specializing in desserts and you don’t know to cook anything else, it’s really truly completely OK. Focus on what you love doing and remember: Chefs specialize. Generalists are all too common. You don’t have to do it all.

Music lightens the soul.

The first thing that calmed me when I set foot into the huge kitchen with so many people who knew exactly what they had to do, this seamless clockwork preciseness, what calmed me was the music. Music softened the occasional squeal, dimmed the awkward silences and erased irrelevant thoughts, allowing us to focus on the present and the now: the food we were making, the pleasure in bringing joy to others.

No one can be angry around food.

At least your mother can't. Making tiramisu was the most tantalizing tempting sinful chore I'd ever been assigned and I couldn't have been happier.

So if you've done something to make your mother angry, don't think flowers. It's bad because flowers have lives and you're endorsing their killing when you get me flowers.

Just make me dessert instead. Just make me dessert.

Consistency especially in monotony is key.

The sheer monotony was overwhelming. I saw the biggest mixing bowls and paddles in my life, I saw more cooking trays than I've seen at retail stores and yet, I saw the chefs apply the same beautiful dedication and perfection in the 3000th cookie he was creaming or the 5984th tiramisu biscuit he was cutting. Consistency is key.

Everything is better with a little loving. Everything and everyone.

Everybody is a genius.

I noticed how they picked the biggest guy in the kitchen to mix the biggest mixing bowls, how they picked the tallest to fill the top racks in the baking cart, how everyone was put to their best use, how it reminded me of that beautiful Albert Einstein quote,

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid."

Everyone's a genius, darling baby.

Do what you love and love what you do. And play fair.

Play fair. And be fiercely protective/competitive

Which cafe do you frequent, asked the head chef. It was a valid worry I knew, our organization had around 25 cafes and I could pick any of them for my lunch. And I watched the head chef frown as I mentioned a cafe that wasn't owned by him. 

Play fair. Do what you do well and by the books, and be fiercely healthily competitive. Your work, dearest baby, your work is the legacy you leave behind.

The legacy you leave behind.

Play fair.

Work hard. And party harder.

It seemed like forever since I'd started and I wearily asked her, "What's the time?" 

"Oh, it's just 9:30am, it's just been an hour," she said cheerfully.

I sighed.

"You should eat an Italian finger chip. Or some Nachos. They're freshly made."

"Tasting time!" the chef bellowed.

And we all trooped to the main kitchen and proceeded to taste the desserts that the employees were soon going to be eating at lunch.

These people taught me, they taught me to work really really really hard. And reward themselves as well. No guilt.

Work really really hard. And reward yourself.

Teach. Share. Pass it on.

"Tiramisu is my favoritest dessert. All time," I gushed. "Nothing else can remotely compare." 

"That's just fantastic," she said. "And I'll teach you to make tiramisu." 

So I wasn't too happy when later, I was assigned to another bakery kitchen. Now I'd never unearth their secret household tiramisu recipe!

Much much later, she came to my kitchen and casually handed me a piece of paper. 

"I wrote down the recipe for you. If you ever need any baking/dessert recipes, you email me, you hear?"

Whatever you know and know well, teach.

Share.

Pass it on.

Chefs know.

I'm convinced that chefs are the next therapists in the making. There's no other reasoning to why I was quickly scanned and immediately assigned to tiramisu, bailey cheesecake cookies.

And butter croissants.

No other reasoning to why.