“YOU ARE SO STUPID!” Chef yelled. The force of his words pierced my heart.
Words can stick to a person permanently like a brand burned on the skin.
The place, Ferrandi Culinary School, Paris, France. The year 1992.
The task: a bechamel sauce. At this point in our skill level, it should have been easy but on this day, I began mine incorrectly.
Chef was our teacher. Someone we admired. We wanted to emulate his culinary knowledge and skill. After the exclamation echoed in the room, all I heard was startled silence. Time stood still. I believe my classmates were as surprised as I was. Humiliated, I ran out of class, crying like a young schoolgirl, except I wasn’t. I was 29 years old.
Looking back at that time, I try to piece together why I reacted the way I did. Why didn’t I say, “Hey, yeah, that was pretty dumb. I know how to do this. What was I thinking?” In any other place/time I probably would have reacted that way. Except in this place and time, I was far from home, missing my family in the States, just plain homesick. My thoughts were not on cooking. They were far away across the ocean.
In France, I learned that words have the capacity to cut at one’s soul. Words placed skillfully together can create distance and separation. It’s a sad misuse. Once released, they are never to be captured or erased.
Without the ability to use French words, I never knew how lonely I could feel surrounded by thousands of people while walking through a city. After four months of living in Paris, my ability to comprehend French was only in its infant stage. Navigating different food, currency, a subway system, a tremendous city, and a unique culture can do that to you, create isolation. It can be the perfect ingredient for a recipe of possible disaster.
There was no internet, computers, cell phones, Facebook, WhatsApp, instant worldwide communication. My phone calls home were made at the corner phone booth with a card purchased at the tobacco shop. And only then on occasion.
After a few more months, I got over that homesick hump, just about the time Spring was in the air. And oh, is Paris amazing when the gardens begin to bloom, and people smile with delight at the change of season.
Am I stupid? Of course not, nor will I ever “let” someone try to make me feel that way.
Time passes. Thank goodness, 32 years later, I have words I can use.
Will my words be aimed at causing harm, or soft and gentle offering kindness? We have so many choices. Today I’ve learned that sometimes silence is the best choice. Save the words for when they’ll be heard. What choices will Chef continue to make with his words? How about you?
