A chef’s memoir of growth
Over 7,000 islands. Magical surf breaks and mountainous rainforests. That’s probably what comes to mind when I mention the Philippines. While this is still very true, I come from a more undesirable and dangerous area; long dirt roads, rusty tin shacks as houses, dirty sewage canals and poverty are what I grew up around. That was before I came to New Zealand with my family and with the help of a great man, Mark, my stepfather.
Migrating to this country at a young age, knowing very little English, had its challenges and difficulties. Now, being here for close to 12 years, everything is starting to pay off. Completing my chef’s apprenticeship and becoming the head chef and part owner of Whitianga’s Blue Ginger is one of my most recent and proudest accomplishments. This also comes with its own set of challenges and difficulties, one of them being my youth and inexperience for such a role. In July this year the founders and owners of Blue Ginger, Becks and Stu, sent me to Quince, a fine dining restaurant in Vietnam, to gain some vital experience. Quince is a wood-fired restaurant in the heart of Saigon that serves up exceptional gastronomic European and modern Asian food.
So I gave up my slice of paradise for six weeks in a restless pressure cooker in Vietnam. I waded through the turbulent waters of my mind and anxieties, avoiding the quicksands of exhaustion and heat stroke, drinking copious amounts of water, and sweating the same out. A truly immersive experience.
I spent five sizzling nights in Saigon partying, eating, drinking, and exploring my way around the city. Before I knew it, I was in uniform in an entirely different restaurant in a different country where they spoke another language. I thought starting in a new kitchen in New Zealand was hard enough, but man, this was something else. Armed with a bunch of moderately sharp knives and my insignificant curiosity, I thought I was ready to take on anything and everything they threw at me.
Being told to chop the herb and measure a fine white powder to the gram using tiny scales, I wondered if I was working in a kitchen or a drug ring. I was very quickly reminded that I was in fact in a blistering hot kitchen when the cooks said, “Yes, chef!” in perfect army-like unison while I tried to keep up with sweat dripping down every inch of skin I have.
A lot of people did warn me of the standard and precision of these types of kitchens, but I’m the sort of person to believe things when I see them. I spent my days off sharpening my knives because of the blisters I inherited after 11 hours of chopping herbs and onions so finely that they bordered on invisibility. I washed my uniform in the shower every day because it had a salt ring around the collar from all my sweat. I soon found it hard to peel myself off my bed to go to work after three days.
With exhaustion looming and bags under my eyes, I thought this wasn’t the way I wanted to spend my holidays. However, with a few supportive words and encouragement from friends and family, I found my strength and tested my mental fortitude. After soldiering through the first week, the kitchen crew finally started defrosting their ice-cold stares and warmed up to a not-so-foreign-foreigner in their kitchen. A few cooks tried to break the awkward silence by asking questions and making small talk in Vietnamese, but quickly fell back into silence as I said, “Sorry, no Vietnamese. I’m Filipino, English only”. I appreciate their effort.
After the second week, things were fun. Going out with a few boys to drink beer outside the convenience store on the side of the road after a monster Friday night service. Eating with the head and sous chef at a ‘young guns’ event, I felt as if I was slowly becoming a part of their team. Even exchanging Instagram handles is a modern-day way of expressing friendship.
Where I learned the most was in the grill and pastry sections. Trimming wagyu, plating uni and preparing caviar flown in from Japan in the morning was simply crazy for this young chef. Measuring stabilisers, gums and powders for pastry was fun. It felt like I was in a scene from Breaking Bad, with my apron and little measuring scales I’ve only seen used for sinful things back home.
Learning how meat behaves on the grill and gently seducing the coals to warm and open up, but not too much to the point where they swallow the steaks in fire and ash. The importance of accuracy and temperature control in pastry to achieve the desired textures and outcomes. The aesthetics and fine balance of the cold section/larder and the overall eye for detail, consistency, and teamwork are necessary for the restaurant to work at full functionality.
Only spending a week in each section wasn’t enough to fully understand everything, but it was more than enough to open my eyes and see the passion, the drive, the sacrifice, the love and the hours these chefs put into the intricate details of your plate.
I hope you do too.
I am grateful to be walking away from this place with:
One handful of experience
A pinch of new friends
Two bunches of ideas
6 Harden Up pills
12 cloves of gratitude for whoever feeds me
And buckets of respect for everyone in this industry.
This trip, for me, feels as though I’m a blanched baby carrot or green bean. Let me explain for those who don’t understand. The process of ‘blanching’ is where you take an ingredient, put it in a pot of boiling water for a minute, and then plunge it into ice water – leaving the ingredients bright, crunchy, and refreshed.
In my case, I’m the ingredient; Vietnam is the pot of boiling water, and New Zealand is the ice bath. Now I feel refreshed and inspired with new ideas and an even greater sense of curiosity about the different ways of working in the kitchen.
Let me marinate, as my journey has just begun.
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