She picks up her phone to call Sammy so she can cry tohim, but a quick calculation tells her that it’s three in the morning in Jakarta. He probably won’t be too empathetic if she was to call right now. She can’t call her friends either, because of the time zone, yes, but also because she can’t bear the humiliation of having to tell them what happened with Henk. There is no one in the world who she can count on right now.
This is it, she thinks.I have hit rock bottom, and well, the thing with rock bottom is, the only direction you can go after this is up, right?
Sure, except under the rock is actually molten soil, also known as lava, her ever-so-helpful mind chirps.So, actually, you can still fall deeper. You’d just be incinerated.
Thank you, Mebel thinks to herself.That is exactly what I wanted to hear right now.
Her mind goes quiet. Mebel sniffs. There, at least she will have peace, if only for a little bit. And with that lonely, depressing thought, Mebel closes her eyes and drifts off into a deep sleep.
Chapter 9
The first week of culinaryschool ends up being the longest and toughest week of Mebel’s life. The classes get no better after that first day. The second day is spent making vegetable stock, which requires yet more chopping. Mebel, still traumatized by her accident and reminded of the pain and shock every time she looks down at her bandaged finger, chops the carrots so slowly that she misses the call to pour the vegetables into the pan and has to stay back an extra hour after everyone else is dismissed to finish cooking her stock. The third day is spent learning about nutrition. Chef Clarke drones on and on about basic nutrients and nutritional principles, as well as current applications of such principles. Things only slightly look up when they are asked to do nutritional analyses of recipes, because if there’s one thing that calculating discounts and VATs in luxury stores has taught Mebel, it is basic math. Butthen they move on from calculations into chemistry, and Mebel is once again lost.
The last straw comes at the end of the week, when they are presented with a surprise test. No one else seems surprised, and when at Mebel’s affronted expression, Chef Clarke says, “It is in your student handbook, Mebel. Page thirteen, second paragraph. It says: ‘Expect a test at the end of each week to review the week’s lessons.’ ”
The most irritating thing about Chef Clarke is his fancy British accent, which makes everything he says sound reasonable even when it’s not. Obviously it is extremely unreasonable to expect anyone to read the student handbook. The thing is at least fifty pages long, with font so small that Mebel had to squint every time she tried to read it, until she gave up because the amount of Botox she will need to erase the squint lines is simply not worth the effort.
To make the long story short, Mebel does not do well on the test. In fact, she does so badly that Chef Clarke asks her to stay back after classes end for the day.
Mebel watches the other students file out of the kitchen and feels, ironically, the fleeting sensation of youth once again. Except this time, she doesn’t enjoy the emotion because she doesn’t feel like a carefree twenty-one-year-old. She feels more like a five-year-old kid who just got caught drawing on the wall. You are a sixty-three-year-old woman, she hisses silently at herself. Chef Clarke is in his fifties. You are his elder and you must demand the respect that you deserve.
But when she stands before Chef Clarke and sees the disappointment in his face, all of Mebel’s indignant spirit leaves her body.
“Mebel,” he says, “please, take a seat.”
She does so, folding her hands on her lap. Her fingers press down on her knuckles. Is she going to be expelled? Can one be expelled from culinary school?
“I notice you are struggling in the class,” Chef Clarke says.
Aiya, he is so direct! Aren’t the British supposed to be known for being subtle?
“I think maybe is not really called ‘struggling,’ ” Mebel says.
“Oh? What would you call it then?”
Mebel purses her lips. “I think maybe I call it ‘getting used to.’ ”
“Getting used to,” Chef Clarke says dryly.
“Yes. There is a lot of things I have to get used to here, you know.”
“Such as?”
“Well, Chef, maybe you don’t know this, but back home, all this…cooking? Is usually done by helper. Is menial labor, you know. No offense, Chef.”
“None taken,” Chef Clarke says. “I understand what you are saying, but the fact remains that you are here now. You are not back home in Indonesia, where you leave all of the cooking to your helpers.”
“Why you don’t use helper here?”
Chef Clarke blinks at her, looking very confused. “I’m not quite following.”
“Well, things like chopping vegetable, that’s not good use of school hours. We don’t come here to learn to chop vegetables, we come here to learn to cook impressive dish. So I think maybe if you hire helper to chop the vegetables, then that get rid of the problem.”
Chef Clarke massages his temple with one finger. “No,Mebel. We won’t be hiring helpers to chop things up for you, because we want you to learn knife skills. It’s an essential part of being a chef.”
“But I’m not here to become chef.”
“Yes, you have made that perfectly clear.” He leans forward, clasping his hands on the table. “Listen, I think you may be at the wrong place. I understand you want to learn how to cook for your husband. In that case, may I suggest going on YouTube or Instagram or whatever other social media platform and doing a search for hashtag-cooking? I think what you want is online recipes, not culinary school.”
