Internship 1: Grace Restaurant & Bar
My internship at Grace was a bit of a last minute decision. I was incredibly anxious about the entire ordeal because I hadn't really secured it until classes ended. I am not the type of person to procrastinate about important decisions - on the contrary, I had been one of the first in my class to start the internship search. I decided to head to Portland, Maine merely based on the suggestions of others. I had never spent a summer in New England. Being at school, I constantly heard descriptions of the chilly Atlantic beaches, the sea salt air, the bounty of fresh, small-scale, organic growers. I could not pass up the opportunity of spending more time in this gorgeous area of the country.
I contacted several restaurants, but Grace was the first to get back to me. I was thrilled to hear his interest. I continued like a pest, annoyingly calling and emailing the chef, getting more frustrated with each voicemail I left. Pete, the Executive Chef, finally phoned me early in April, telling me that he had just gotten site approval from school and would be interested in taking me on as an intern. Jumping up down and surely, scaring my neighbors with my screams of joy, I booked my plane ticket to Portland. And that was that.
Arriving in Portland was a bit of a feat in itself. With me toting my two (generous) fifty pound suitcases, my friend from school (whom I would be living with) picked me up from the airport. We could not locate our apartment, and when we finally did, we were told that we had to wait for more documents to be signed before we moved in. That night, Morgan and I slept on the hardwood floor with some blankets to cushion our tired bodies.
I came into work at 9:45 the next morning with my hair slicked back in a tight bun, no jewelry, clean shoes, and a nervous smile. Little did I know, everyone dressed in oversized black dishwasher shirts. The laid back apparel surely did not reflect the attitude of the cooking style at Grace. I was told to julienne and caramelize onions as my first task. My heat was set a bit too high and browned some of them - oops. Next, I was told to make aioli. I thought to myself, someone else always did this in class…the emulsification broke three times - second oops. My nerves were getting the best of me. I continued hearing words of reassurance from Pete and Flood, the Chef de Cuisine. This made me even more frustrated; I did not want to be treated as though I knew nothing. But, later on I realized this was quite true - in fact, I did know nothing.
I made more mistakes that day, as well as each day following. Then, miraculously, I began to understand concepts and techniques that I was sure I was doomed at understanding. Connections slowly built in my mind and the errors I had become so accustomed to making faded away into the perfectly emulsified aiolis I am proudly able to make today.
I am so honored to have worked amongst such talented and dedicated chefs surrounding me. Not only are they skillful, they put such care into each process. I watched Pete's quiet, thoughtful way of working and his passion for this life is almost tangible. Whenever Flood tells me one of his recipes, the last ingredient in which he stresses the importance of is love. And isn't that what this industry is about? Love is such an extreme part of this job, and more than ever before, I am understanding this indelibly.
I contacted several restaurants, but Grace was the first to get back to me. I was thrilled to hear his interest. I continued like a pest, annoyingly calling and emailing the chef, getting more frustrated with each voicemail I left. Pete, the Executive Chef, finally phoned me early in April, telling me that he had just gotten site approval from school and would be interested in taking me on as an intern. Jumping up down and surely, scaring my neighbors with my screams of joy, I booked my plane ticket to Portland. And that was that.
Arriving in Portland was a bit of a feat in itself. With me toting my two (generous) fifty pound suitcases, my friend from school (whom I would be living with) picked me up from the airport. We could not locate our apartment, and when we finally did, we were told that we had to wait for more documents to be signed before we moved in. That night, Morgan and I slept on the hardwood floor with some blankets to cushion our tired bodies.
I came into work at 9:45 the next morning with my hair slicked back in a tight bun, no jewelry, clean shoes, and a nervous smile. Little did I know, everyone dressed in oversized black dishwasher shirts. The laid back apparel surely did not reflect the attitude of the cooking style at Grace. I was told to julienne and caramelize onions as my first task. My heat was set a bit too high and browned some of them - oops. Next, I was told to make aioli. I thought to myself, someone else always did this in class…the emulsification broke three times - second oops. My nerves were getting the best of me. I continued hearing words of reassurance from Pete and Flood, the Chef de Cuisine. This made me even more frustrated; I did not want to be treated as though I knew nothing. But, later on I realized this was quite true - in fact, I did know nothing.
I made more mistakes that day, as well as each day following. Then, miraculously, I began to understand concepts and techniques that I was sure I was doomed at understanding. Connections slowly built in my mind and the errors I had become so accustomed to making faded away into the perfectly emulsified aiolis I am proudly able to make today.
I am so honored to have worked amongst such talented and dedicated chefs surrounding me. Not only are they skillful, they put such care into each process. I watched Pete's quiet, thoughtful way of working and his passion for this life is almost tangible. Whenever Flood tells me one of his recipes, the last ingredient in which he stresses the importance of is love. And isn't that what this industry is about? Love is such an extreme part of this job, and more than ever before, I am understanding this indelibly.