Modern Turnips

Montreal winters are brutal, more so if you`re looking for work. Time passes slower when no money is being made. The pressing ennui of daily life is satiated only by tastes of culture we need others in order to experience. In February, I got a call to try out at an Italian restaurant in Petite Italie.
Weeks prior, I walked out of my first kitchen job over a bagel lox (everyone has their limits), hence the boredom and inclinations of frugality. After some time of unemployment I was reading to be taken seriously as a line cook.
When I got to the interview, I did a cursory scan of the restaurant. High ceilings, a guy making fresh pasta and a huge pastry case. «Possibilities,» I thought. Oddly enough, the waitress that greeted me was of my former employer. Montreal is a village. What was even more incredible was at the moment she recognized me she told the owner, "I used to work with her. She's really good." I thought, «Yes, maybe I`ll leave here with a job.» I sat with the owner, a portly man of uncertain character. He asked me, "You speak Italian? You know risotto? I said, "Yeah." «Make me a shrimp risotto. Luca will give you everything you need."
It's an open kitchen. Luca, a striking, six-foot something guy from Genoa looks and me and goes, «Ok so what do you want? » I'm thinking, I've watched people make risotto, I can do this.
I pick up an onion. My hand's shaking. Luca immediately begins to distract me. "Did you cook in the States? It's hard to find a nice girl to work in the kitchen. I'm going back to Italy because I miss my family." I proceeded to make risotto. Luca kept talking, "I think risotto is a good test. The guy before you overcooked the rice. It was too salty. A good risotto, it's hard to do. Nothing like it." I told him, «I`m nervous.» He said, `What? You`re just making rice!»
Marco, the other cook, came over. The two spoke Italian, "Ho dubitato, but she's doing it." Then, the owner came over, "You know, I interviewed when I was younger and they asked me to make an apple pie. They told me if you can't make an apple pie you can't cook. That was thirty years ago." All I'm thinking is "please go away." Time passes. The rice is taking too long, but I kept going. Luca hands me flowers, `Tell them you found these in the fields!` They taste it in front of me. "Very good, much better than the other guy." I got the job! I was hired to replace Luca, but quit shortly after he left. If there`s any place to learn to be a line cook it`s Montreal.