Shockingly Different

I’m not sure how to explain the difference between working the 9-5: clicking away on a computer all day, sitting in my comfy chair tucked away in my cozy little office listening to my ipod; versus 4am to noon in a New York City restaurant. It's shockingly different.

I get up at 3:15 am, make sure my bag is packed with landmarc shirt, chef’s pants, kit, bandana, and trusty sharpie; slip on the contacts, and I’m out the door. It’s pretty darn cold at 3:30 in the morning and I quickly scan the street to make sure there aren’t any crazies looking to start some shenanigans.

After a couple of weeks, the station manager knows me and wishes me a happy new year. It’s not hard to remember the non-drunk people who take the train at this time. Lucky for me this Sunday morning I enter the train car with vomit on one end.

I finally reach the Time Warner Center and hear the birds chirping as I exit the station. When I get to the restaurant I change into my uniform, clogs and apron. It’s time to get ready. I wonder how the day will shape out. Will the pace be faster than usual or will I get out of here by 10am to enjoy the rest of the day?

It’s three of us this morning. The pastry team starts earlier than everyone else. One person starts the mise en place for the bread, one person the caramels, and I start the crème brulee and blueberry crumble. As I’m picking out the lemon peels out of the blueberry compote I look up and we’re ready to start rolling out the bread. It’s my favorite.

The dough is still warm and feels fleshy in my hands. I can smell the yeast, gruyere and caramelized onions. I love this. Throughout the day we’ll be prepping eggs, piping chocolate mousse, filling éclairs, rolling tarts, making tiramisu, and lemon curd. We devote the final hours to wrapping the fresh caramels. The time just flies by and standing on my feet all morning is now practically negligible.

After 3 weeks, I’ve begun to stop missing my comfy chair or checking my email, or wondering what I’ll do with the rest of my day. I’m still not used to having to go to bed so early, but lately, my body gives me no choice and I pass out on the couch around 8:30. Poor Jay is left to his own devices, and is beginning to accept that I’m really only good for the first 10 minutes of any movie. The other day I couldn’t even last the FBI warning.

I’m starting to forget the final remnants of my old routine. I won’t lie and say this work is all cinnamon and lemon zest. It’s hard, hard work. It’s hauling your ass on days that you weren’t sure you could haul some more. It’s dealing with a lot of people in your way scampering around a slippery hot kitchen, carrying really heavy things. The tingling in my hands from the marathon caramel wrapping is beginning to subside. I don’t wear pretty dresses or my favorite maryjane pumps to work. My life is just so different now. And I’m so thankful for it.