Let Them EatJin!

Appetiser

You hold the plaque, proudly showing it off to the group of photographers who clamber over each other, desperate to get the much-sought-after picture of the youngest chef in the country to receive three Michelin stars within his first year of opening his restaurant. You grin widely as the flashes from their cameras go off in quick succession, like fireworks in the sky, and not blinding as any other person might have observed.

"How does it feel, Monsieur Jin, to be the receiver of such a prestigious award?" one reporter asks, holding a mic towards you.

"Oh, well you know, it feels wonderful of course," you say, gesturing nonchalantly, "but it doesn't just belong to me. It also belongs to my wonderful team who follows every instruction to the letter and listens very carefully to everything I say because if they get anything wrong.....I mean, because they are so highly skilled themselves," you say, feigning modesty.

You are just about to answer another question from a reporter when there is a sudden downpour of rain and everyone scatters to get shelter. You try calling them back and yell "Merde!", jumping up. Your pillow is soaking wet and you wipe the cold water from your face. You see your younger sister laughing as she backs away from you, carrying an empty bucket.

"Wake up, dopey, you're going to be late for class again," she says, leaving your bedroom before quickly adding, "and I'm telling Maman that you swore."

Slam. She's gone before you can say or do anything in retaliation. Stupid Jennie just interrupted your favourite dream, the one you've had since you started as a trainee in Paris' Ecole Culinaire Supreme. Specifically, the same dream you've had for the last two years. If only dreams could become reality without so much effort. You do a mental checklist of why the dream was closer to fiction than reality:

(1) you have failed all the culinary tests set in the last two years - both theory and practical.

(2) you are repeating your first year for the third time - so, 'youngest chef with the prestigious award' was just a tad far-fetched.

(3) Monsieur Gastron hates you and does daily rituals to the Gods of Gastronomy in the hope that you will quit.

(4) you still live with your parents and sister - in other words, too broke to live by independent means.

(5) your parents own your sorry butt because they are paying for your tuition fees (for the third time).

(6) you're not getting younger - you refer back to 'being the youngest chef....blah blah...far-fetched'. Two strikes on that count.

Thankfully you can't come up with any more points, although you're sure Monsieur Gastron could, if asked. As could half the trainees in your cohort. You don't even have any friends to 'vol-au-vent' to. You chuckle at your impromptu joke and grab the notebook on your bedside table to quickly jot it down. 'Can't let these Jin gems disappear', you think to yourself. If being a chef hadn't been your lifelong dream, you are sure you would have excelled as a stand-up comedian. You curse your fate at having your beautiful face being kept hidden from the public and being forced behind the scenes in chef whites instead (your choice). Still, when you are famous, then your glorious visage will be adored by all your fans. It was only matter of time before that happened. Spurred on by this thought, you kick off the covers and jump up. Third time's a charm, right? You quickly get ready and dash out the door, yelling "Au revoir Maman, Papa et La Skunk!" as you leave. You have 50 minutes to make the 45 minute journey to the culinary school. Just enough time to grab a couple of freshly baked croissants from a nearby bakery where Justine worked. You're pretty sure she has a crush on you, although she would never admit it in front of you. 'She's a very shy girl,' you convince yourself. You run to the bakery, quickly check your reflection on the window, and are just about to adjust your hair, when you stop. What's there to improve? You're perfect, Jin. You saunter in casually and see Justine with her back to you, busy doing something. When she hears the bell indicating someone entering, she automatically turns around to say, "Bonjour, comm......oh zut alors!" Then she turns to a colleague in the kitchen, "I told you to warn me when he comes!" she berates him, clearly annoyed. 

"Hi Justine, you're looking particularly resplendent in red today," you say, overworking the compliment.

"Er, yes, Jin. Usual two croissants is it?" she says uninterestedly, quickly putting said items in a paper bag and placing it on the counter. "Five euros." 

You wish you could put the money in her lovely, soft hands, but as they are out of reach, you place the coins on the counter instead. You start to say something when she interrupts, "Hey Jin, don't you have to get to school soon? You'd best get going if you don't want to miss your bus," and then mumbles to herself, "l'imbecile can't even afford his own car."

"Oh, yes, erm, I supposed I should get going," you reply confused and sad to be denied yet another opportunity to talk to Justine.  "Au revoir, Justine, see you tomorrow," you wave to her and leave the boulangerie, completely unaware that she is laughing about you and wondering how you could possibly think that you are in her league.

You run to the bus stop, stuffing the croissants in your bag, and just manage to join the queue of people getting into the bus. You find a seat at the back of the bus and think about the new recipes you will get to try in class today. You had come up with a particularly innovative way of using cucumber and anchovies with the addition of squash, which you are sure Monsieur Gastron will love.