SURPRISE!

My boyfriend and I talk almost every day whether via email, gchat, or Skype. Most of what we talk about is how much we miss each other. I know, how nauseating is that?! I constantly nag him to come and visit me because, well, I'm a woman and lord knows we love to nag. I, personally, live for it! And while I am often convinced that I am 100% in the right, my boyfriend did have a legitimate point recently. It was bound to happen eventually. 

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He made the point that since he has a job and I was no longer going to be working at my internship, that it would make much more sense for me to come and visit him. As we were discussing this I was still trying to figure out what to get him for his birthday. So just for fun I went online to see how much a flight would be. Of course it was going to be ridiculous, it was less than a week before his birthday. But thanks to Kayak.com this turned out to not be the case. A ticket was only 530 euros. How could I resist?

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So I booked it and didn't tell him. This was just too good not to have it be a surprise. Of course my mother pointed out that it may go down in flames like so many surprises tend to but I told her that instead of being a mom with good advice she should actually blindly support me (I believe I actually called her a "wet blanket"). What did I care at that point if he was disappointed to see me, or even worse, had another girl hanging around? This was me living in the moment and consequences be damned! Plus I thought it would be romantic as hell if it turned out. And I could not wait to see the look on his face. 

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So now a few days have passed and I am sitting in the airport waiting for my flight. For once in my life I left early to make sure I didn't miss it. This turned out to be a smart idea considering there was a strike on the RER and my train was all fubar'd. It took me a good fifteen minutes to figure out what was going on and then another 30 to figure out where the hell to go. I boarded the wrong train, of course, but this was an easy remedy and so I just got off and waited for the right one to come. But then there was another obstacle to hurdle. There were two terminal stops for Charles de Gaulle and I had no idea which one to take. 

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I had actually written down all the information that I thought was important but had failed to write the terminal down. I'm still convinced that that was even given. Either way I took my chances and got off at the first one. Worse come to worse I could just get back on the train again and keep going. And hallelujah! It was actually the correct place to get off. Luck was turning my way! 

Going through airport bullshit is probably on my top ten list of things I hate to do. Waiting in line sucks in general but especially when its with a bunch of people stressing out about missing their flight. And when you have to go through customs this is bound to happen at least three times. Plus there's lots of walking and looking at signs and people who take advantage of the smidgen of authority they have. It's essentially a melting pot of all the things that give me a headache and make me feel like I need to shower. 

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But something interesting I observed while on this odyssey to my gate was my status within this mass of people. I am certainly not French. But I am also not a tourist. I actually do, on occasion, try to speak french to people and on an even more rare occasion we understand each other. I also am used to the french attitude and so it doesn't get under my skin as much as it used to. It's not personal, its just their personality. So it was somewhat humorous for me to watch all these American tourists fumbling in the French system and being, well American. Who was I?

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I don't really know but I do find it somewhat hilarious that I obviously think I'm superior to the French as a whole because, well, I'm not French. And at the same time I think I'm superior to American tourists because I'm not a tourist, and really who likes those fools? I just hope I don't become one of those people who, upon returning to the US, feels all high and mighty because they lived abroad. I mean I am cooler but really, everyone already knows that, I don't need to rub it in their face. 

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So for the time being I'm just going to surprise my boyfriend and hope it goes over well. The gigantic box of Pierre Herme macarons that I brought for him shouldn't hurt either. And of course I brought a few smaller ones to buy my friends with. The truth is when someone lives abroad and comes home, I think it's just rude not to bring goodies with you. What kind of A-Hole does that? It's something you always look forward to when your parents go on awesome trips, so why not bring that little bit of childhood with you in your carryon? 

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KITCHEN TOOLS - PART DEUX

1. KitchenAid Mixer


     A good mixer is a key element to any kitchen. Especially if you plan do to any type of baking. Sure hand mixers are old school and easy to store but really, what a pain?! Perhaps my first memory of baking is with my mother in the house we grew up in. I can distinctly remember mixing chocolate chip cookies in our old, white, KitchenAid mixer. My favorite part was adding the brown sugar because I loved how it held the shape of the measuring cup before disintegrating into the liquid of the eggs. Not to mention that the dough after this addition was always my favorite. No flour, no chips, just sugar, eggs, butter, and vanilla. How could it not be good?

     The point is, that a good standing mixer is something that makes life much easier and is ripe for memory creation. I am a bit partial to KitchenAid when it comes to domestic use because I think they are top quality, come in fun colors, and I have a personal relationship with them dating back to my youth! My boyfriend gave me my own first KitchenAid the first Christmas we spent together. It was a huge hit.

     Something to be aware of is that the style that locks up and down is useful but takes up a lot more height space than the original version, so keep that in mind if you plan on storing it under something else. Other than that go buck wild! There are so many colors and designs, accessories and add-ons these days its hard not to have fun with it even before you get to the actual baking!

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2. Nonstick pan


     My lovely sister reminded me of this necessity. A decent nonstick pan is a must have if you ever plan on making eggs, specifically eggs over easy which is the only way I think eggs ever should be made. God made the yolk that yummy for a reason people! But nothing is more tragic then when you go to flip your delicious morning ovum, it sticks to the pan, and crack, your yolk and your dreams are broken! How am I supposed to start my day off right when something that catastrophic occurs straight out of the gate? While one solution is frying your eggs in buckets of bacon grease, this isn't exactly something that my heart is too excited about. So while it may be delicious a healthier alternative is investing in a decent nonstick pan. These come in handy for many other things as well but just remember, invest in a good quality rubber spatula. The only worse than a broken yolk is a scratched up nonstick pan.

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3. Bench Knife


     The first day on the job at the Denver Bread Company, my boss introduced me to the bench knife. "Always have one of these by your side," he told me, "this will become more important than your own hands. In fact, it will become an extension of your own hand so make sure you always have one at the ready." This was completely true. Bench knives are essential when dealing with bread dough but they are darn handy when it comes to other things as well. They're a great way to scrape anything off of your cutting board including chopped veggies, herbs, dough, flour, you name it. Before I clean off my butcher block at home I always give it a good scrape with my bench knife to accelerate the process. And I'm sure you'll find numerous of your own uses as well.

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4. Dough Scraper


     A dough scraper is a must have in the pastry world. Like a gigantic spatula, a dough scraper is much more efficient at scooping out goodies from the bottom of the bowl. This goes beyond just dough to frostings, ice creams, ganache, caramel, anything particularly sticky. So if you like to make sure you get every last single solitary drop, a dough scraper is something I recommend you have in your arsenal.

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5. Music


     I should have known that something was wrong with Pain de Sucre when there was no music playing. I have never before worked in a kitchen where music wasn't always on. It's one of the joys of not working in an office! (Well that and the open swearing). Music and food are intertwined if you ask me. They're both expressions of the soul that one shares with another. And I find that I work better and the food tastes better if I have some good tunes on. My personal cooking favorites are Billie Holiday, Nat King Cole, Brenda Lee, and other classics, but really whatever gets you in a positive mood and makes you move is something that will help you not only enjoy being in the kitchen but also to make quality dishes.

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6. Scissors


     Scissors are awesome outside of the kitchen and so I'm sure you all have at least one pair in your house. But I highly recommend that you go to your nearest office supply store and stock up on at least one other pair for your kitchen. Scissors can have many different helpful uses in the kitchen. They're great for cutting off the tip of a pastry bag and I use them all the time for cutting up my herbs. And let's not ignore the fact that most kitchen tools come packed so tightly in hard plastic that without a pair you may go insane trying to claw your way into whatever is trapped inside.

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7. Large Mixing Bowl


     So while a large mixing bowl comes standard with a KitchenAid mixer, I also recommend a large more shallow bowl for hand mixing. Anytime I have a dinner party it seems as if I can't have enough large mixing bowls. Good for marinading, breading, mixing sauces, whipping eggs or batter a mixing bowl is something you should have at least one (well maybe two) of. Plus if you find one that is attractive it can double as a serving dish on your table. I always love a two-fer.

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8. Whisk


     Come on people, if you have a kitchen and you don't have a whisk something has gone horribly awry. Whisks aren't just for baking! I use mine constantly for sauces and gravies. Sure I've had to make do once or twice with two spoons but it just wasn't the same. And besides, I think they are the coolest looking tool in the kitchen. I recommend at least two, one large and one small. And I wouldn't go for the trendy silicone ones, I've found them to be quite disappointing. The good, old fashioned style works the best from what I've seen. There's a reason it has been the same for years.

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9. Good Quality Brush


     Whether your brushing a turkey with butter and wine, ribs with BBQ sauce, or pie crust with egg wash, a nice brush is a must have. Nothing bothers me more than a brush that sheds while brushing. I may as well use the hair from my head! For some reason it grosses me out beyond belief while simultaneously annoying me because I have to waste seconds trying to gently pick out the hair from my well decorated crust. In an attempt to avoid this I invested in a silicone brush but, again, I found that it just wasn't the same. While it may be good for some things it just doesn't do quite the job that a hair brush will do. It doesn't hold onto the sauce or wash as well and is much too rough on delicate pastries or doughs.

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10. Sense of humor


     Things go wrong in the kitchen. For me they seem to go wrong all the time, and while I still struggle with just letting them go, I've found that the best thing to do is have a sense of humor about it. Just as I remember making chocolate chip cookies with my mom I can remember laughing in the kitchen over something that ended disastrously. I once fell asleep while waiting for a pie. This taught me two things. 1) Don't start making a pie at 1am in the morning and 2) Pie's really shouldn't be baked for 2 hours. While I was lucky that I didn't burn the house down, I also chuckled as I ate my pear pie that now seemed to be filled with a mushy pear sauce instead of delicate, tender slices of delicious fruit. Perhaps my favorite kitchen calamity is when my parents were throwing their annual Christmas party and because they had just invested in a new, fancy oven, the prime rib sat, still cold, for hours until someone realized that the oven had never been turned on. This resulted in some microwaving and late night eating but all the same it wasn't the end of the world and it's a story my mother still tells twenty years later.

     After my horrific experience at Pain de Sucre I know that having a sense of humor is a good thing in every experience. Life is here for us to enjoy it and when things go wrong it's best to find the laughter in the moment. This is especially true in the kitchen because while I take my cooking very seriously, at the same time nothing is more funny or pathetic than a burnt chicken. Laugh at the chicken, laugh at yourself, and order some pizza. In the long run no one will be upset that the chicken got flambeed. They'll just enjoy the giggles and time you spend together.

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LET THE GAMES BEGIN

So now that I am an official blogger I need to crack down and get serious! There's so much I want to do, see, and most importantly, EAT! Not only that but I am also so excited about living here in Paris instead of just suffering some of the worst of the worst French people in the city.

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Though it wasn't exactly planned that way, Elze had a dinner party the night I decided to quit my internship and never return and so I took it as a personal gift and as a dinner celebrating my grand exit. Elze was a wondrous hostess as always and served us pasta in a six-mushroom cream sauce followed by duck breasts on a bed of greens. The most amazing part was that she had no oven and so had to get a bit creative with some of her cooking. One wouldn't know, however, because everything was delicious!

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I stayed until everyone else had gone and Elze and I remained chatting and drinking whiskey soda's until 3 o'clock in the morning. Since the Metro stops before this enchanted hour I ended up crashing on her pullout bed with her on one side and Suanne on the other. Whether the bed was comfortable or not I'm not exactly sure, but I did discover that whiskey makes a wonderful sleeping pill. After sleeping in until 1pm I decided to finally make the trek back home via Metro and was not to pleased with all the pumping around in a hot stuffy train car filled with people smell.

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So while it may not have been the most romantic or graceful way to step into my freedom, since then I think I've been doing fairly well. Just yesterday, for example, I went on a little mission to find a small kitchen boutique that I discovered after a tour of the Musee d'Orsay. The shop is beautiful and is filled with tons of hand painted, french serving dishes. I bought my sister a birthday present there and thought it might be a great place to look for Christmas presents. "Isn't it a bit early to be Christmas shopping?", you may be asking, but since every year I put it off to the last minute I am trying to learn from my mistakes and get it going earlier.

While I may have neglected to remember the exact street this charming shop was on I did remember that it was right near a Laduree. How divine, I thought to myself, I can stop for some macarons on my way. I of course ended up going to the wrong Laduree but since it took me a whole day to realize that it was Sunday and my little shop would be closed, I figured that it didn't make much of a difference anyway.

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I was meeting up with Elze and Suanne and the three of us popped into Laduree to buy some macarons. The place was absolutely packed. The restaurant had a line out the door and the macaron boutique was practically overflowing. I went for a licorice (which had a caramel filling), a salted caramel, a green apple, a lemon, and a cassis. They were all lovely with the salted caramel and green apple being my favorites. Really, these are a superb cookie. If you can even call them that. I am going to spend hours and hours days and days trying to perfect my macaron shell because after biting into Laduree's crispy exterior, soft cookie interior and having the textural holiness followed by such divine fillings, I want to be able to offer that kind of bliss to other people.

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Though I claimed that I would only have one to start and finish the rest after lunch, by the time we sat down at Cafe de l'Olympia at 2 Rue Seze, I was swallowing the last bites of my last macaron. These are intense little delicacies that are supposed to be savored in small quantities, but being the American I am I just couldn't help myself. They're so damn tasty! Plus I had five different flavors. I didn't want to play favorites and leave one waiting to join the others in my belly.

With a stomach full of almond flour and powder sugar, we sat down to have a drink. We had stumbled on the place and weren't sure if we would trust the food but my roommate Christy and her hunky boyfriend, Mr. Johnson were in the vicinity and we thought it would be a shame not to meet up. But as they were serving us our wine we all took a look around at the food other people were receiving. From the first glimpse of a plate of escargot I knew I wanted to eat there. Plus the fries (or frites) looked like they would be a nice greasy complement to the macarons chillin' in my gut.

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Feeling a new appreciation for all things French I decided not to hold back and went ahead and ordered a plate of escargot and cuisses de la grenouille (frogs legs). If only I hadn't left my beret at home I would have felt completely in the mood. I may have even lit up a cigarette just to look like on of the cool kids. But even without the stereotypical getup I enjoyed my meal (along with some of Mr. Johnson's and Elze's fries) and felt excited for the days to come. Now all I needed was my camera, my notebook, and a mission.

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So get ready folks. There's a whole big city out there just waiting for me to explore it. I can't wait to have a macaron-off, or uncover my favorite hidden shop. I can't wait to fumble through my limited amount of French, to drink wine on the Champs, or spend a day at an art show. And the best part is that there is a purpose to all of it. Making this about my blog and not just about me gives me an objective, a focus, and well... a purpose. Sure having my job title be "blogger" may be a bit flaky, especially with my 20 readers to back it up, but it's all I need to feel validated. So let the games begin. I'm ready to get this party started and pump up the volume. The race is on, and who let the dogs out?

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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.

audrey1.org

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?

thestir.cafemom.com