Seasoned by Love
ad the night before-like it had
acks, and soft sneakers that wouldn't squeak on polished floors. My curls were wrapped neatly in a navy headscarf. My backpack hu
sn't ju
s the f
outs, and "can you make could you make french pastries for my boyfrien
iting to see i
ready buzzing by t
eek high ponytail, clipboard in one hand and iced coffe
y to break heart
ed to
nervous,"
I am," I
east dining r
. Right
ces, polite but cautious. No one said anything. A sous-chef slicing onion
s. Maybe even a
o starched whites or sch
't bla
've sta
ide, offering a view of the manicured courtyard. I walked t
dining room wa
as t
Si
mug in the other. He wore another fitted button-up-this one charcoal gray
ne the moment I
unctual,"
plied, standi
tapped the tablet o
am
ai
rna
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head slightly.
eri
wai
orn and raised in
expression unr
nty-
onal bac
cience in Food
slightly. "No c
, s
pa
train prof
N
ike that?" He asked wit
aught me the basics. L
shifted. Maybe surpri
't ques
, ca
your sta
d. "You
o prove yourself with nothing but mem
't hes
arind glaze," I said first. "W
id no
rs with pickled onions
crossed his brow
corn butter. Or crab mac and cheese with cassava c
othing, like it
ng in his e
r. Just..
he shif
t brea
t with orange zest and vanilla, or soft scrambled eggs with crème fraîche. Or
qui
tastes like three conti
ked. "
ca. Asia. America. One pl
fr
n't a su
't even a
A test. But to the world thi
shoulders. "Gi
an hour,30 minutes s
was give a nod
ock sta