BLASPHEMY!

So after failing to show up on Friday I decided that I should write an email to my bosses so that they would know that I was quitting and that I was quitting because of how horrible it was there. This is what I wrote:

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I will no longer be partaking in my stage at Pain de Sucre since I feel that I was not getting anything out of it. I was expecting to learn more than just how to pack boxes and was hoping to be treated with more respect. Because I do not feel that I can continue working in such a miserable environment where I am not getting any positive learning experiences I am ending my stage. 


While this may be a bit "bitchy" I felt that it was honest and to the point. Why sugar coat the truth? And why just duck out and not stand up for myself in the tiniest possible way? So while it may have been a completely cowardly way to quit a job the truth is that they terrified the crap out of me and it's the only way I felt comfortable leaving that life-sucking sugar cube. 


I don't really know what I was expecting. I knew they would email back. I knew it wasn't going to be, "so sorry to hear that we're such assholes, we're working on that..." And so when I returned from a lovely day out in Paris to read this email the aftermath of its affect was not exactly was I was planning on. 

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Mademoiselle


Vous avez quittez l entreprise de manière totalement incorrecte ce qui ne nous étonne pas compte tenu de votre manque de motivation, votre incapacité d adaptation et de votre mauvaise volonté. Nous vous avons laisser votre chance, nous aurions du rompre le stage des les premiers jours! Vous n'avez pas les qualités nécessaires pour une une pâtissière professionnelle


Bien cordialement


Translation: 


Miss, 


You left the shop in a bad way which does not surprise us given your lack of motivation, your inability to adapt and your bad attitude. We are lucky you are leaving and should have broken your internship the first day! You do not have the necessary qualities it takes to be a professional pastry chef. 


Sincerely. 

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BAM! No holding back! At first the shock of their callous words was somewhat humorous. Are they kidding me? Lack of motivaiton? I did every job as quickly as possible and waited with baited breath for the next task. Inability to adapt? I tried my hardest to maneuver within that quagmire of a patisserie and feel that my french improved with leaps and bounds considering your lack of patience. Bad attitude? Now that pisses me off more than anything else. I peeled those clementines like a champ. I cut that damn pineapple with a smile. I boxed those macarons with a skip in my step. And saying they should've fired me on the first day?! What the hell is that? I knew these people were immature ass clowns but I wasn't certain of just how deluded and cruel they were until this email. I mean for heaven's sake, they cast me off as a failure who would never succeed in the business. 

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So while my first response to this horrific train wreck of an email was a chuckle and light hearted, "Oh my God!" the words did eventually erode at my positive attitude. How could they say this? Is this how they really felt? I went back and forth between self doubt and hoping that horrible horrible things would happen to them. How could these people be this cruel?

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And here is the thing, I know that I was a terrible student in school. I know that I can be lazy at home and just lay in bed for an entire day eating chips and watching old reruns. I know that I can have a bad attitude when it comes to partying with friends or shopping or when people piss me off (which frankly, most people do). But when it comes to working for someone else I know that I am a fucking rockstar! I may not always be bursting with confidence but I come in on time every day, I do every job with a smile, and I try to do the best that I can. And if you aren't a complete soulless worker of iniquity than I will sacrifice holidays, birthdays, time with my friends, and a reasonable night's sleep to make you happy. But if you are a satanic jackass then I may just leave you hanging one day hoping that it pisses you off. 

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Sticks and stones may break my bones but words just stun me for a while. I'm not a big enough person to let these things just slide off me. I'm not a big enough person to not want physical and debilitating retribution from these scabby tyrants. But at least after a few hours and a hot bath I will return to being happy, to believing in my future, in my abilities, and to laughing at how miserable these two scurvy, wayward, venomous canker-blossoms are. They have to fester in their hatred and bad attitudes every day while I get to skip along the Champs-Elysses and plan my own wonderful pastry shop that will be all whistling, rainbows, puppies, and happy times.  By the time I awake tomorrow I will be back to my rational (well somewhat rational) refreshed self. I may not be perfect, but at least I'm not them! 

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SUGAR CUBE REVEALED

For those of you who read my blog I'm sure some of you may have noticed that I never revealed the name of the patisserie I was working at. This was for obvious reasons. I didn't exactly want to rip my bosses a new one and have them now that I am doing it. Of course this assumes that anyone reads or can find my blog (I have yet to locate it via Google Search). All the same, it seemed in my best interest not to piss off my bosses who were already are such cheery and understanding people. But now I am free and so can unmask the mystery since I'm sure a few of you are on the edge of your seat with anticipation. So here it goes, drumroll please...

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Pain de Sucre. Pain de Sucre literally translates to bread of sugar but what it actually means is sugar cube. A cute and innocent name for a patisserie. For any of you who know anything about Parisian patisseries, Pain de Sucre is one of the top ten, perhaps even top five, pastry shops. And let me just say that even after the weeks of horrific experiences, the blows to my self confidence, the screaming, the counter slapping, the rudeness and complete lack of respect for me as a human being, I would still recommend Pain de Sucre to anyone visiting Paris. Just don't step foot into the kitchen. 

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Pain de Sucre may have two complete jackasses for owners and if you see either of them you would most likely know it. Both Madame and Monsieur work at the counter in the shop and neither of them smile. Madame even bitched out a customer the other day because she tried to pay with a check. But aside from their complete lack of personal skills, or personality for that matter, they do create incredible things that are unique and special, beautiful and delicious. The savory side is not nearly as popular as the sweet but if you are interested in a quality meat pie this would be one of the best places to go. They aren't cheap but they have incredible crusts and top notch ingredients. The soups are fabulous as well and contain interesting and delightful flavor combinations (the carrot soup is one of my favorites and has carrots, melissa, ginger, and coconut milk). 

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Then there's the pastry shop. Now I may have only been allowed to put sliced figs on top of tarts or put sable into boxes, but I do know that what the other people made was pretty incredible. They use high end ingredients and practically everything is made fresh that morning. They have a plethora of marshmallows that are so fluffy and light it's almost unbelievable. They are perhaps most famous for their tarts and I must admit that their tart crust borders on perfection. The entremet (which are like fancy layered cakes) are also delicious and elegant. And the chocolate heart cake is perhaps one of the most heavenly things I've ever eaten. 

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The one thing that I would not recommend, however, are there macarons. Many people, especially tourists, aren't exactly sure what a real macaron should taste like. They are so popular now that you can find them almost anywhere but very few places make a perfect macaron. I'm not judging because it isn't something that is easy to do. I know that I can't do it. But just because I can't make the perfect macaron doesn't mean I can't eat the perfect macaron. For those of you who want to try the best go to Laduree or Pierre Herme. There's a reason they are famous for their macarons. It isn't just nonsense or hype. They really do have that market cornered. And while I'm sure that there are other places that do a stellar job on this little sandwich cookie, Pain de Sucre is not one of them. 

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The Pain de Sucre macaron is actually quite a tragedy. The flavors they do are incredible and the fillings are devine. But a macaron is made or broken based almost solely on the macaron shell. It should be crispy on the outside and soft/melty on the inside. To achieve this a macaron shell should be fairly hard and dry when removed from the oven since it will naturally absorb some moisture from the filling. In fact I had even learned that the way one tells if a macaron is done is if it can be easily lifted off the baking sheet. Pain de Sucre did not hold to this test. The macarons were, in my opinion, raw when they were taken out of the oven. This meant that they never achieved the perfect texture that a macaron should have. So while their pistachio ganache or caramel fillings may be heavenly, they're wasted sitting between two pieces of soggy failure. 

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If you do research you'll find many wonderful things written about Pain de Sucre and that's because these people really do know what they are doing when it comes to sweets. Everyday there's a line out the door of people who want to get a taste. Sure I may think they have organizational and efficiency issues, and sure they may treat their employees like crap in the process but who really cares about that if all you want is a tasty tart. And the fact is that I am the last person in the world that would want to boost their self-esteem or support their business. But facts are facts and while one of those facts may be that these people are horrible human beings, another is that they make wonderful food and have a pastry shop in a charming Parisian neighborhood. So if you're planning to visit don't avoid Pain de Sucre. I plan on going back after a few months and haircut. And hell, maybe pastry is like the blues and in order to be top notch you have to sell your soul to the devil. 

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HALLELUJAH!

Today I am officially FREE! After a few stolen pow-wows with Cecilia, we both decided that today neither of us would go into work. We were getting our paychecks and thus had no reason to continue subjecting ourselves to the torture of the pastry shop. We also both felt that just failing to come in was exactly what those horrible people deserved. Plus, we're cowards. But really,  why should we respectfully resign when they treated us like dirt? We only wished that we could see the angry aftermath of our mutiny.

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The actions of the day certainly supported this decision. As usual things were hectic. And as usual my name was on the list next to the three most boring jobs possible. 1) Wrap the entremet in bags, 2) Segment oranges, 3) Peel clementines. The exhilaration of the upcoming tasks was almost unbearable.

Midway through peeling clementines I was asked to stop what I was doing and search out thirteen one inch rimmed trays. This took some time since they were all over the kitchen and being used for other things. When this was done I was asked to spray them and line them with plastic. As usual they didn't tell me what these were for and just used me as a meaningless tool. After this I was then asked to finish some tarts, to pack some boxes, to wrap some cakes, so the clementines were looking like they were going to be waiting around a while. So I tucked them in the fridge to hang out while I finished these other tasks. And at some point I was deemed, "in the way," and so I was sent upstairs to the little nook where chocolates are usually done.

This did not bother me in the slightest because it meant I got to work where no one could see me (not even the surveillance cameras) and so could take my sweet ass time and savor the last few moments of box packing that I would be forced to endure. As I was innocently putting sable into plastic tubes I heard the sweet shrill of my boss yelling from downstairs, "LORA!!" "Oh joy!" I thought to myself, "what could I have possibly done to warrant this glorious beckoning?" I ambled downstairs and met my boss who was red faced and flustered. He took me into the walk in and pointed at a box of figs on a tray. He then lectured me on how figs were never to be stored like that and that I needed to fix it right away. How exactly this was my fault, I don't really know, but I did what he asked without complaint.

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A half hour later I was still packing sables into tubes and heard yet another loud cry of my name. What was it this time? I'd only done a few things that day anyway, and I don't see how I could have messed them up. But apparently anything can be considered a fuck up of grave importance to a lunatic. This time it was the clementines. I guess that having two separate bowls of clementines was worth disrespecting me and shouting out my name like I'm some dog that's taken a dump on the carpet. My boss lectured me on how this was ridiculous. Oh the humanity! When I tried to explain that I had been stopped mid-peeling and wasn't finished with the clementines he cut me off immediately. I only was allowed to say, "Oui, mais...(yes, but)" when my boss shouted back, "NOT YES BUT, YOU SAY YES CHEF!!" I apologized and thought to myself how happy I was that I was going to fuck this dickwad over the very next day.

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The rest of the shift was uneventful and I could not help but fantasize about laying in my bed the next morning instead of working in that hell hole. As I was packing boxes full with macarons, a duty that I partake in every day, my boss actually started helping me. When I looked at two of the boxes he had packed I noticed that they didn't have a sheet of parchment on top of them like they should. But I figured that since he was the boss and all he probably knew what he was doing so I asked him if that was how they were supposed to be. He chuckled and said in english, "Giggle, I forgot!" I mentally rolled my eyes at the hypocrisy of it. Here I had previously been torn a new one for having two bowls of peeled clementines in the fridge and yet when he "forgets" to do something right it's a light hearted laughing matter. WTF?

Eventually he left me to finish the macaron packing and wrapping. I sung hummed happily to myself the "Fuck You" song by Cee-lo and thought of how lovely life was going to be. Finally I would get to enjoy Paris! Finally I would be eating quality macarons instead of just packing this sub-par ones into boxes every day. When my boss came down to leave for the day he handed me my check and said, "A demain!" I smiled to myself. I was free. And "a demain" means, "see you tomorrow" and I loved the irony of it.

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FOUR HUNDRED EUROS A DAY

Knowing that I can walk out of my internship at anytime gave me a skip in my step as I entered my patisserie this morning. Things washed off of me like water on a duck's back and the usual little remarks from my Chef and Alberique did not have their usual "ruin my day" effects.

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Part of the joy I felt was thinking this morning that today could be my last day. Being the first day in November that we have work I was assuming that we would receive our paychecks and with that I was planning on never returning again. But, of course, this was not the case. Cecilia informed me that they would probably be giving us our pay tomorrow. Tomorrow? I guess I could come in one more day...

Why not? This day wasn't going too terribly. My positive attitude about my soon departure was helping to fuel my spirits throughout the shift. Then, however, the proverbial "it" hit the fan. I'm not exactly sure what happened in the kitchen but for the last four hours of the day it was an absolute madhouse. There was a whole mess of things to do and a whole mess of people to do them. No one got to eat lunch except me, but this didn't happen until 2:40pm and I ate so quickly I thought I was going to be sick. To top it off I think it was one of the most unorganized cluster-bang of a day I've seen yet. There were numerous things being made at one, kitchen tools left out and dirty, no space for working, no space for moving, it was not enjoyable to say the least. And I had to ask myself, is this worth it?

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Of course one more day was worth the 400 € plus I would receive on my paycheck tomorrow, but I had to keep reminding myself of that fact. Let's not forget all the usual bullshit I got to endure such as being reprimanded for things that weren't my fault, getting told to be faster, getting told to move out of the way when I had previously been told to work in that space, being spoken to like an idiot in English by my boss. All within a days work.

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But it'll all be over soon. Just one more day and I will be able to never go back again. How exactly am I going to enact my exodus, I'm not quite sure. I'd love to act like the child my chef is and make a big scene, throw something on the floor and dare my chef to hit me. But sadly I'm not that theatrical in real life. I'd love to sit down with my chef and calmly let him know that he's an ass and I'm leaving because it's been one of the worst experiences of my life. But truthfully, I don't know if I have the cajones for that. So what will most likely end up happening is a wimpy email informing them that I am unable to complete my internship and thank you for my time there and bullshit bullshit bullshit. What can I say? I talk a big game but really I'm a sissy at heart who is terrified of any type of confrontation. But hey, who knows what will happen tomorrow?

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LETTER HOME #5: EAT AMERICA

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Some of the best parts of my pastry program was the time I spent with my fellow students. We really got to know each other very well and while we may not have all gotten along at all times, we did manage to have some great moments together. This was particularly true whenever we sat around a table together. Since we were all from different countries, many of us took turns cooking traditional dishes from our homelands to share with one another. It was a fun way for people to express the pride they had in where they grew up, to open others up to comfort food they had grown up with, and a great reason for all of us to get together.

I was not above this and was more than happy to share some traditional American dishes with my peers. So I stole a table from my neighbor and commenced with a hot day over the stove.




Bon Jour!

So we have just finished our first week with the new Chef and the new, early hours. It has been absolutely amazing. Chef Baccon is probably one of my favorite people in the world and to dislike her would be about as inhuman as slaughtering a bunch of kittens. As I mentioned earlier, she's one of the tiniest people I have ever seen and watching her wield a gigantic knife is impressive to say the least. She's also immensely sweet and to top it off is an insanely talented chef and teacher. Though her english is not nearly as good as her french counterpart, she manages to be succinct and clear. She also has a light yet professional attitude about her. We tempered chocolate the last two days, which was no easy feat, and she was definitely laughing at all of our misfortune and frustration, but it was fun and lightened the mood as opposed to being cruel and mocking.

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Though switching  your internal clock can be a bit tricky, and waking up at 5am instead of 11am can cause one to be exhausted and slightly grumpy, the change in times was much appreciated by all! Sure we were tired in the morning and unable to fall asleep at night, but it is wonderful to have the rest of the day to do things! Stores are open, the sun is out, and you've just finished eight hours with a minuscule, charming, Korean woman and made some beautiful candies. I am looking forward to these next few weeks and dreading the switch back. But c'est la vie!

I have begun the process of looking into my internship and thus far it appears that I will end up in Lyon. I am also interested in Aix-en-Provence (for obvious reasons) as well as Annecy, though they both have less options as far as shops and housing. I am planning on going to Lyon next weekend to check out some of the Patisserie options, and am excited to be going back to one of my favorite cities! 

One of the most wonderful parts of this trip is the fact that I have been able to meet people from all over the world and that we all have bonded to one another quite quickly. We really are a team and are always looking out for each other. One thing that we have taken upon ourselves to do is cook dinner for everyone from our native lands. Chinese night was absolutely incredible! But I'm sure part of that was due to the fact that we have more Chinese people here than anyone else, and it was quite the feast. Since this Friday the second group, myself included, was able to finish class early I decided to make everyone some good old fashioned American food. Camilla had requested fried chicken and while I should know better than to take on deep frying anything for such a large group of people (20+) I just couldn't say no for her excitement was contagious. And Suanne had asked me how to make macaroni and cheese and so I decided that that, too, would be a good representative of the states. Everything was delicious and I am thrilled that my house does not still smell like fried food this morning. I must admit that I have promised myself never, ever, ever, EVER, again to make fried chicken for that many people, but at least it went over well. My roommate, who I have not had the best relationship with (to say the least) was shocked at how I knew how to cook and wanted me to give her all of the recipes. She doesn't have the most mature palate but she certainly loved fried chicken. But who wouldn't? Perhaps the best part of the entire evening was that the star of the whole show, the recipe that every single person asked me for and swooned over was my mother's salad dressing! Since I was serving fried food and pasta slathered in cheese I decided that a little vegetation was in order and of course I had to include my mother's salad dressing. People were pouring it over everything, including the chicken, and though I was convinced at the beginning of the night that I had made too much, once the guests had left I discovered that the bowl of dressing was drained. 

Martha Stewart

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I'm still not sure how I managed to fit that many people in my house, but we all have this "family dinner" thing down to a science. We each bring our own plates and utensils (this has led to a few friendly battles over whose stuff is whose) and we each bring our own chairs. The person on the same floor of the party carries their dining table over and we push two of them together and have a big, long, feast. I am glad that I got mine out of the way, though I do feel that I am going to have to make Gramma Chris's chicken and noodles at some point. But perhaps I'll make it for a more exclusive crowd, just so that I'm not swamped with dishes the next day! It also is quite difficult to cook for such a group when you have limited supplies and a tiny dollhouse sized oven. But, as I said, everything turned out and as long as there's enough wine nothing can really ever go wrong. 

Next weekend my friend, Christy is going to make traditional Singapore cuisine since her boyfriend is visiting and bringing about a gallon of Singapore hot sauce with him. I'm very excited. 

American food, while not pretentious or romantic, is delicious and I realized that it's so comforting, people from all over enjoy it and crave it. So way to go USA!

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Love you guys!

Lora

So I may not have ended up in Aix like I planned but when do things ever go as we plan them. It just goes to show that no matter how secure it makes me feel to plan every upcoming detail of my life, there are forces beyond my control. And really, how boring would it be if everything turned out as I expected?

FREEDOM ON THE HORIZON

Last night I finally figured out the cobweb that is the French prefecture website. From previous experience I have learned that doing anything regarding your visa is a guaranteed confusing, frustrating, loss of time. Add on that a language you don't understand and get ready for hours of searching.

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After going to page after page after page of information on how awesome the French police are, their history, how to become one, and all that nonsense, I finally found a page where I could make an appointment to renew my visa. Eureka! It may have taken me another 20 minutes to figure out exactly which numbers they wanted my to fill in but I ain't no dummy and eventually I made it through to the other side. And guess what? The next available appointment is....

FEBRUARY 9TH!

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Are these people on crack?! It took a while for this fact to sink in, especially considering that they put their dates in a different order here (day/month/year instead of month/day/year). But the cogs finally fell into place and I realized that this was going to be a problem.

I recently discovered from my old school chef that I couldn't get a new internship without renewing my visa but I can't renew my visa unless I have an internship. It's like some evil mind game. The truth is, though, that there is no way in hell that I am going to stay at my internship until 6 days before it's over just to renew my visa. So what to do? What to do?

What I realized is that this means I can say, "So long butt monkeys!" to my current internship and make an appointment for a visa renewal at a later date. There is somewhat of a grace period for this and so while my visa may not be up to date my last few weeks here, as long as I have an appointment to renew it all should be fine. And in the meantime I will not only be enjoying the fruits of the Paris tree but I also may discover that my old chef was wrong (it has happened before) and be able to secure a new and different internship! Goodbye hell patisserie! Hello loophole and Paris!

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This new discovery left me so giddy last night that I couldn't fall asleep until four o'clock in the morning. This means that this week, this day, whenever I want, I can leave! I'm truly and completely free! I figure I'll wait until I receive my most recent paycheck but then...Peace out grenouilles. Good thing I have a nice butt cause that's the last thing they're gonna see. 

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This means I need to seriously crack down and make a list of assignments for myself to complete while here so that I don't just laze around the house eating cheese and foie gras while sipping on 2 euro wine. Sure that may sound like heaven but truly I don't want to have to book a second seat on the flight back home just because my thighs overflowith the first. And I actually want to, you know, see Paris! 

So here she comes, that classic fat lady, just about to sing, she's stepping on my stage of life, opening her mouth and as soon as she's finished, let the real show begin! 

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AIN'T NOTHIN GONNA BREAK MY STRIDE

Bonsoir!

Sorry for the late post but I was too busy keeping warm in my apartment on this rainy Paris day. I did manage to clean a bit which at least makes me feel like I accomplished something. Overall I spent the day trying to fight the feeling of inadequacy. It's hard not to feel like that when every day at my internship people treat me like I'm slow and stupid. It's incredible how much an environment can make such a difference on what one does. This is pastry, something I love to do, and yet the fact that everyone in that kitchen acts like I'm an inconvenience makes me question my passion for sweets.

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I noticed this is pastry school. We had two chefs. One who was endearing yet unorganized, confusing, and contradicting. Finishing a day with him left me angry, tired, and hating anything with sugar in it. Then, our second chef, was charming, sweet, clear, and knowledgeable. Days flew by with her and I would realize, "Oh, that's right, this is why I love pastry!" So while it may be my dream to work in pastry it is also my dream to do that in an environment that I love, that I feel welcome in, and that feels like home.

I also experienced this contrast in the two bread places I worked in. One, my first real baking job, is a place that I still have such great feelings about. My boss took me in with no prior experience or training and taught me all he could. He was like one of those strict teachers in school that, while intimidating, you just did not want to disappoint because you cared about them and what they thought of you. I left that shop every day feeling good about what I had made, how hard I had worked, and most importantly about myself.

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Then I took a second job at another bread bakery doing pretty much the same thing. Yet somehow the feelings I had about that place and myself were completely opposite. It was made up of all men. All chauvinistic, stoner, rude men. I was the only girl when I first started out and while I like to think that I'm not squeamish or politically correct or a wuss, it was still difficult to deal with. I can tell a dirty joke just as well as most guys but when it comes to a work environment, and specifically your boss, that can be difficult to swallow. Day by day the negative feelings towards women as a whole chipped away at my self esteem. I started caring what they thought of my sexually, because apparently to them that was all that mattered if you were a girl. Instead of being filled with a sense of self accomplishment on my drive home from work, I would cry the whole ride home. I hated bread. I hated my job. I hated myself. And so I quit and returned to my original job, the original bakery, and things were all better again.

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And that's when I realized the importance of the people you surround yourself with. It doesn't matter if they're your friends or your coworkers, the people you spend your time with not only reflect who you are but also help to shape you and how you feel about yourself. Maybe I'm too sensitive but what I know now is that if I don't get a good feeling about a place within the first week it probably isn't worth working there. I don't care if it is one of the top five pastry shops in Paris, my mental health and emotional status are worth too much to me. And let us not forget my dream! It's incredible how just a few words ("Vite! Vite! Vite") can cause me to question my passion, my hopes, my future.

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But alas, today is my weekend and I'm enjoying every relaxing second of it. Something about staying inside on a rainy day just makes me swell with comfort. Hopefully things will get better. Hopefully I will return on Thursday with a personal strength and resolve not to let these bastardos mess with my head. And hey, it'll all be over soon!

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