Timeline of my Past Year (ish)

Early July 2023 – The decision is made. I moved to Denver in late May with a nannying job lined up for the summer. It was an 11-week position set to end August 14th. At some point in July, I decided to get a job as a line cook at the end of my nannying gig. When talking to a writing mentor after graduation, he told me to consider both my purpose and my passion: what I’m good at and what makes me curious. Writing and culinary artistry, I came up with. Initially with a sense of resistance and confusion, then gratitude for the sincerity and clarity with which I knew these things. I don’t know what pushed me to the kitchen then, nearly a year after this conversation and discovery. But I finally wanted to do it, badly, and I was not going to let them tell me no. By September, I would work in a kitchen in Denver.

July 26th – The search for a willing kitchen. I printed out 15 copies of my resume at a local printer store and roamed downtown Denver walking into restaurants to ask if they needed help in the back of house. The hostess of a modern Asian fusion restaurant—one at which I dined in March during my first visit to Denver—told me, “No I don’t think so but I’ll ask my manager.” He who I’ve come to know as Marc, former general manager of the company, came and told me they could actually use some help. How long have you been in the kitchen? How much professional experience do you have? Where are you cooking now? I gave him a bit of my smile, now was time for the speech I anxiously recited for the past hours. I explained to him my passion for culinary artistry and what I’ve recently started to refer to as my ‘big girl dream’ of being a traveling food journalist. That being one of the first times I actually said it out loud, at least to someone not required to support me through years of friendship or blood relations. I told him I cook at home all the time and I love to learn and I know how to work hard. I’d do whatever they’d let me. This was a Wednesday. He told me to come back the following Wednesday to stage. I thanked him and told him I’d be there and walked back onto the street feeling like this may actually work. I immediately pulled out my phone and googled, “staj in a kitchen.” Would it?

August 2nd – “A ‘stage’ in a kitchen is an unpaid internship where a cook or chef works in a restaurant to learn new techniques and gain experience. The term comes from the French word stagiaire, which means ‘trainee,’ ‘apprentice,’ or ‘intern.’” Thanks to the advice of a fellow chef friend, I arrived for my stage early, with a change of non-slip—clearly never worn before—shoes, a 10-inch chef’s knife, an apron, a baseball hat, and a Sharpie. When I got there, one of the chefs said, “she has on non-slips and brought a knife I say we hire her on the spot.” After which he explained he was joking, then proceeded to confirm I knew a variety of skills and words I didn’t know existed. I held my confidence as best I could, “No Chef, I’ve never worked in a professional kitchen before.” “OH! Oh. Okay. That’s fine. We’ll put you with our tall white Mexican.” Where am I? I thought. I was led to a tall white guy named Brett, who was fluent in Spanish. That was the Mexican part. He instructed me to cut various vegetables in different ways, then place them in deli containers in specific orders and quantities. Easy enough. I tried not to think too hard, but every time I moved my knife I thought back to the ‘Anthony Bourdain Knife Skills’ video I fell asleep to the night before. At that point, everyone in the kitchen knew I was there to learn everything, meaning I knew nothing. About an hour into my chopping and weighing, one of the sous chefs said he’d make a deal with me: “I will teach you everything you need to know, if you promise to give me 110% 100% of the time.” I got the job.

August 3rd – First day as a line cook. I started at the sushi station in the kitchen. It was in a trial phase of sorts on the menu, with only three plates coming off the station, which was the reason I started there: minimal volume. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the plates: yuzu kosho salmon crispy rice cubes, gochujang spicy tuna roll with a truffle emulsion, and tuna sashimi with a soy ginger marinade. There weren’t many of them, but they took skill. If you cut tuna the wrong way, it tastes tough. If your knife isn’t sharp or clean or hot enough, the sushi roll will get mangled, not cut. I started to learn with the first task I was given, and 15 months later it hasn’t stopped. I don’t remember much specifically about my first night, but I just found a selfie from 10:22pm on my walk home with one of the cheesiest smiles I’ve ever seen on my face.

February 13th – Cooking French: first day in my second kitchen. I got hired by another restaurant in the group, a French bistro, to pick up a few shifts while they needed extra help. As Bourdain says, “as soon as you pick up a chef’s knife and approach food, you’re already in debt to the French.” I wanted to learn French cooking from the moment I read that. Stocks, roux, velouté and beurre monté, standard mirepoix ratio, how to shuck an oyster and clean a mussel, and the four fine herbs. Things I always wanted to learn, and things I never knew to know existed. This kitchen was different in that all the cooks spoke English and had worked in kitchens for years. They all wanted to go on to become chefs whereas my first kitchen was predominantly a means of income for people; a job that was unlike any job they had done in the past. With exceptions, of course. This meant they had so much to teach me, and there was a need to impress them.

October 6th – Last day in my first kitchen. I didn’t think it would hit me the way it did. I didn’t think the sole moments of walking to and from the restaurant would make me cry the entire week leading up to my last day. I didn’t know how hard it would be for me to leave for the last time, and I didn’t know how long I would linger just because of that. One of the moments I remember most, one I’ll always remember most, was the last time my chef gave me one of my favorite pep talks by the bar after my final Saturday night shift with him. He sat at the bar, drinking a beer, doing counts and reviewing the night’s performance while I stood beside him, elbow on the back of a barstool to prop me up. “What words of advice can you give me to go on with?” I asked him. “Go in there and get your hands in things. Don’t be scared. Don’t be one of the cooks that stands back and watches.” I even told him I didn’t want to walk away, because I knew it was the last time we’d be in that situation together. Those moments were some of my favorites over all 14 months I worked there. He was genuine and he was honest with me, and I’ll always be grateful he made me that deal on August 2nd, 2023.

October 8th – Moving places: first day in my third kitchen. It’s two restaurants: modern Asian and Italian connected by a shared kitchen. I want to say all new and no old, but I walked into a lot of familiar faces in this kitchen. Chefs, cooks, dishwashers, managers, and servers I worked with before. I left my family, but at least there were small pieces of it here. People who also missed looking out the window onto downtown as we worked, who knew what it meant when I said I just wanted sopita for family, who can see how much I learned because they themselves taught me those things. It feels special to be around people who have seen me through this entire adventure. Who are both a bit shocked and impressed that I’m still there.