Culinary Chronicles

My father was a boxing champion in Cuba. Out of 122 fights, he only lost 11. He was a real fighter. I'm proud of that - I carry it with me every day. I'm not a quitter. I've been saving money to visit Cuba and rediscover my roots. I think as you get older, knowing where you come from tends to hold more meaning, as well where and how you choose to spend your time, and who you want to work with. I like my position and I like my job. The people and the environment you work with here are different.

Back in Venezuela I was studying to become a journalist. I had everything set, but in the end I had to leave to find a better future. When I arrived, I quickly realized that most jobs require a lot of english, the only place I was immediately accepted was in kitchens. Even if they didn’t speak spanish, we found a way to communicate. You begin developing a type of kitchen language within your team. There were never any judgements in this place, and I’ve always felt like I was part of the team.

When you just arrive in a new country it can be overwhelming. You don’t easily forget the person who helps get you on your feet. Mine was a Peruvian chef, and a great man.

“I’ve seen some pretty crazy things working in restaurant kitchens. Some years back, during an insane dinner rush, two cooks quit and walked out. Before even having time to react, the guy next to me cut his hand open. He ended up cauterizing the wound on the stove and kept working. Some crazy shit.”

I’ve always loved to cook, not just for my family, but as a profession. I was a line cook at a really known casual Cuban restaurant here, but once I reached my position there was no where further for me to go.