“YOU ARE SO STUPID!” Chef yelled at me. It was sauce day. Class had done this 100 times. I began mine in the wrong order.
Words that fly harshly out of mouths can sometimes be the cruelest. His words hurt.
Words can stick to the mind permanently. Like a brand burned on the skin or etched on the heart.
I ran out of culinary class in Paris, France like a young, crying schoolgirl, and I was 29. 4 months living in Paris was beginning to take its toll. I was homesick. My head and thoughts were at home not on cooking. I am not stupid.
Without being able to use words, I never knew how lonely it can feel surrounded by thousands of people if you don’t speak their language.
A different language, food, currency, subway system, time and culture can do it for you. It can create the perfect recipe for homesickness. The internet was not a thing, nor computers or cell phones. I called home from a pay phone on the street with a phone card I bought at the local tobacco shop.
And only on rare occasions.
So now I ask myself, how do I use my words? How do I want to use them? I prefer kindness.
How about Chef?
How about you?
