Ten Weeks A Slave

     I am feeling like Cinderella these days.  Toiling away in the back of the house, neither to be seen nor heard.  Forget lunch or breaks, you're lucky to use the toilet.  One day I came home so defeated with undiscovered body aches, I collapsed on the coach.  All I could do was shift to a less painful position and moan.  Luckily, my body recovered the next day after a good night's rest.  How does one endure this kind of work for more than a few years?
     I am the lone female warrior amongst a team of men.  The chef and sous chef as well as two line cooks are under 30 years old.  But there are a couple non-English speaking amigos who are probably my age.  One has a visible limp.  He has been working in the industry for 20 years.  No one complains.  No one takes breaks, except chef periodically to smoke.  I can understand the wide spread epidemic of alcoholism and drug addiction in this industry.  I, who believe my body is my temple, am now looking forward to my shift beer at closing.  
     The sous chef is rather a slave driver.  I much prefer to work with the chef.  They alternate days off, and thus who's in charge.  With the chef, I have some down time, such as when he demonstrates how to butcher meat and fish.  We banter as culinarians.  The sous chef just piles one to do item after another and gives me the evil eye when I'm taking too long.  I have a feeling I am doing a lot of his duties.  Although I am glad they treat me as an equal, I miss my classmate who never wanted me to lift a finger.  
     One positive from this experience is that I can pretty much eat whatever I want after a shift.  Even two meals, which is what it takes sometimes.  It's impossible to gain weight with all that I do in a day.  The work is never ending.  It's really difficult for someone who likes things with a tidy beginning and end.

     Here are some of my shift meals:

Crab Ravioli with Kale and Radish Salad

Kale and zucchini with grilled polenta 

Duck with Cherry Reduction