The astronauts guide to chef school

They say that if you write, write about what you know and that which makes you happy. I could think of a few things, but today I had to choose Chef School. Contrary to the ‘happy’ writing it has to date given me the most life experience ever.



Here’s the story. Being the impulsive person that I am, I decided to study to become a chef at the mere age of 16. I graduated from school that year. A bit earlier than most kids because of the fact that i felt you could learn a bit faster, finish school sooner and start life quicker.


Being very ‘intelligent’ at 16 you know what you want to do with your life and can actually fix everyone else’s problems too. I would become the next Jamie...but a girl version, not that ‘real chefs’ like celebrity chefs... but that’s another story. I enrolled at a prestigious Chef School in Pretoria. Being one of the chosen 30 (if my memory serves me correct); I was excited and all dressed in white with a sexy hat to put the cherry on top. For those of you that know me well, you would be familiar with my many forms of ‘stages’. From wearing boys clothes to wearing only earth tones. This particular stage was my dreadlocks and flesh tunnel stage... NICE


I entered the kitchen that looked like it had just  been polished from tip to toe being so shiny and clean and for that matter, clinical. I could smell the aroma of freshly baked bread and I knew that i had made the right decision. This would be heaven and a breeze. I couldn’t wait to start cooking. Not that I had the foggiest idea of how to cook well. But the determination did not lack in any way.


Next thing i was called into a little room that had windows all around. Clear windows so everyone in the kitchen could see you were being ‘questioned’ or in trouble. I was the victim this time and that on the first day of chef school! Our head chef (he serves as the principle), told me my dreadlocks had to go and the flesh tunnels too. For those of you that are not too familiar with flesh tunnels, they are little stretchers that you put in your ear to make you ear holes bigger. Yes i was considered ‘weird’. And my whole identity that I had been building around my hair and flesh tunnels would soon crumble, i know it’s sad but give me some slack I was only 16 turning 17. I would become, wait for it, the word that i had ‘dreaded’... i would become ‘NORMAL’. I wanted a bike to drive away... Now!


This was the start of Hell’s kitchen. To be continued...







3 comments:

  1. beautiful pics!

    xx
    www.mydailyfashiondosis.blogspot.com

    ReplyDelete
  2. thanx carmen :) x

    ReplyDelete
  3. these cultery is beautiful but not so useful

    ReplyDelete