To Cook, or Not to Cook?

Here is an article on women line cooks and chefs. She's got some good points, but I don't think I would quit because of these reasons. After all, I have to say that most of what has happened to her in the kitchen, has happened to me...more than once. So all you strong woman chefs out there, keep your courageous spirits, we women chefs need each-other.

http://www.eatmedaily.com/2010/05/why-i-quit-cooking-women-in-the-kitchen/?so=f-l

"I see you looking at Chef Chiarello..

may I answers some questions about him for you?".

Please. As I glare at this mid-twenties year old female server straight in the eye, all I want to say to her is "Dude, I probably know Micheal on a lot more personal level than you do. Little do you know what the last 4 years of my life have been. I built my career and life around my experiences with this guy. You have no idea what I'v been through to get here, or who I am. You have no idea the kind of tears and sweat and emotion I'v put into this place, so there is no necessity of you asking me that, other than to treat me as though I am lesser than you and you are somehow his secretary or feel the need to "be apart" of this Bottega family that I still havn't even been able to figure out within the last 2 years. I know you haven't been here long. Miss, just walk away before I feel the need to use this spoon for something other than I usually use them for."

Surprisingly, I don't say that. I grit my teeth and scoot up in my chair, clear throat and reply.

"Uh, no. I was just glancing in his direction. Thanks though."

This ditsy brunette walks away. I think I may have continued to give her a few dirty looks throughout the evening from my larger than life Bottega chair in the dining room.

So yes, Micheal was sitting at the bar, chatting with a few, what looked like "industry folks" most likely photographers or television camera guys. Which is really not that surprising. His hair looks darker, he looks younger. There he was sitting in all his glory. Respectable, handsome and "white". His jacket still read "Bottega, Chef Micheal Chiarello" as I once remembered it to be. Although I did remember him wearing a server apron, the rich burnt orange apron with the thick multi-colored ties. No, he wasn't wearing that. It was a white apron now. I wondered if that could be a sign of little enthusiasm or an obvious statement of the obvious. "I am Micheal Chiarello and I can walk in the dining room without a server apron and just a plain white one."

My mind started to wander with thoughts of the past and I continued to think about MC. Asking myself questions, wondering if I should be sleek and make my way over there to say hello and ignore my date completely.

Considering how we parted ways or I should say considering how I left the NapaStyle/Bottega family, I wonder what it would be like to talk to him again in about a year. Face to face. I knew he would remember me, even though I recently cut all of my hair off. My dining table was silent. My date continues to stare at me as I look all around up to the ceiling and back down again, continue to glance at the kitchen line and then look to the bars direction obsessively to make sure Micheal is still sitting. I look at my date and surprisingly he doesn't seem annoyed.

At that moment I tare away from the old feeling and tell myself "Jenn, go back to reality. He's just a person and its just your past. Get over it."

So I sit up in my chair, awakening my child-like daydream fist on my chin, take a deep breath and grab my wine glass. Giving it a swirl and a sniff and a smile in my dates direction. Deep breath. A moment of silence passes and I try and think of starting a conversation, but there again, I have nothing to say. My mind continues to revert back to my experiences and at that moment I began to appreciate them with a peaceful smile and a deep breath. At this point, I don't know weather to cry, smile, scream or laugh. Believe me I'v acted on all these emotions in this place before.

I glance over at the bar again and he's gone. My heart sunk to the floor. I take another deep breath look at the ground and sip another of my wine and my date and I begin to converse.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a friendly familiar face. Round glasses and a jolly face with curly red hair. It was no other than the infamous server merf. I think I actually jumped up and threw my arms around him and continued to jump up and down.

"Jenn what are you doing now!?"..and so on the words continue to flow in a classic fashion of history since I left.

But then, just like the Where's Waldo book I remember as a child, there he was gleaming with his great smile, original attitude and genuine personality with some diners in the far dining room.

My last few words trailed off slowly..

"a n d t h a t ' s w h e n I u h h....can you excuse me for a moment? I really want to say hi to Micheal before he sneaks away."

I don't even remember the walk over there, all I could think about was the moment I got there. What was he going to say? Is he going to remember me? OMG what am I doing!?

I yell "Hi Chef!" I gave him a huge hug.

He replies "Jenn! Look at your hair! How are you? Where are you now?"

I actually saw some genuine sparkle and interest in his eye. Thank God he recognized me. How could he not?

"I know Chef I cut it all off! I am doing very well. I'm a line cook at La Toque now. How is your son?"

We continued for a moment of conversation and towards the end I said,

"Chef it is so great to see you, I am glad your family is doing well."

I swear, its just like seeing family. Its a family that I'm proud of, a history that defines me. It doesn't matter if its what we call "work". I am proud to remember this history and call it mine. To have been apart of this epic start of a journey for Yountville and Micheal himself, it is my pleasure to speak of my past in proud ownership.

Towards the end of the evening, in all of the satisfaction that I felt after seeing "my family" after so long, I told my date in utter simplicity, "I feel a little sad that I'm not apart of this now." He replied with this "Jenn, you are apart of it. It is still apart of you and you will always be apart of the beginning."

The problem is this notion of home. The word suggests a place and a life all set up and waiting for us; all we have to o is move in. But home isn't merely a place we inhabit; it's a lifestyle we construc (wherever we go), a pattern of routines, habits, and behaviors as sociated with certain people, places, and objects all confined to a limited area or neighborhood. We can certainly construct a home back in our culture, just as we did abroad, but thre won't be one waiting for us when we arrive...