Life as an Intern

"So glad you're here!  It's pastry class tonight and we need to measure out 13 sets of ingredients for the following 3 recipes.  Kelly will show you where to find the supplies in the downstairs kitchen when she has a minute."

And so began my initiation as "intern". 

Bordeaux Quay is a landmark brasserie, bar, deli, restaurant and cookery school on the riverfront in Bristol.  Started by Barny Haughton in 2006, it was the first restaurant and food initiative in Europe to embrace sustainable gastronomy on every level including food sourcing, water, energy, recycling, waste and staff education.  It was even the first restaurant to win the Soil Association's Gold Award.  While Barny is no longer involved in the restaurant and some elements have changed, the Cookery School is still very much his project and a continuation of his previous work, Quartier Vert, with over 20 years of organic and sustainable practices behind it. 

Barny's approach to education and his particular passion for reaching youth resonated with me during his lecture series at UNISG last Fall.  Although I toyed with other options, BQ was where I most wanted to be for this 6 week research and internship period.  However, despite the flurry of emails prior to my arrival here, I didn't know exactly what my work would entail.

It's actually quite simple.  I help with cookery classes.  I'm the slow(er) one in the corner, too timid at first to answer serious cooking questions but there to prep recipe ingredients in organized ways, clear away messy dishes, label baking trays with names and fetch last minute ingredients from unknown locations around the facility.   My uniform of chef's whites, striped apron and ubiquitous blue checkered pants marks me out as I traipse up and down the large wooden staircase in the centre of Bordeaux Quay, throwing myself on the mercy of the harried kitchen staff to track down unknown winter vegetables like swede, or fresh yeast hidden by temperamental bakers. 

I've learned how to get the stern Ukrainian bartender to smile (sometimes) while he makes our much-needed coffees on morning shifts, how to coax already prepared ingredients from the sometimes moody kitchen crew and I'm always able to find soft butter, dariole molds and a good chat from the resident pastry chef.  After several early morning preps for mobile classes in local primary schools, I've even discovered that the deli's cheese and pickle sandwiches are perfect mid-morning pick-me-ups. 

With a full schedule of long-term courses to one-off workshops, I've been able to work at every time of day with almost every member of the staff and every type of group imaginable. From corporate adults, teen moms, university first years, private high schoolers learning skills for their gap year, children with Down's syndrome - this school does so much more than just teach the local middle to upper class how to cook with confidence, important as those classes are.  Despite the redundancy of my daily tasks, I absolutely love my work.

And in the end, it's people who are most important no matter where you are and what you're doing.  In every class, connecting to students even when I had no clue what I was doing has made each day worthwhile.  Like teaching knife skills to a little girl with Down's Syndrome whose accent was so thick I could barely understand her constant chatter except when she told me she had to fart - again.  Or commiserating with a teenager who squealed at the sight of a fresh mackerel - but tried it and liked it once cooked.  Or destroying my first ever batch of pastry dough with too-hot hands while chatting with the gorgeous guy next to me who executed his perfectly and proceeded to tease me the rest of class.  Or discussing why parmigiano is so expensive and how it's made to a group of kids who kept peppering me with questions.  Or even encouraging a frustated twelve year old to try just one more time to put his pasta dough through the machine - to perfect results. 

Drawing deep breaths of clean air as I walk along the river back towards home every day, I leave tired but satisfied.

From Bra to Bristol

 The sun was golden, reflecting off the buildings as the airport bus wound its way through the streets of Milan.  Not quite the same blazing light as last May, but a similar warm, uniquely Italian summer feel.  Having flown in and out of Milan's three airports these past 10 months more than I'd like to admit given the ensuing hideous carbon footprint, there was a strong sense of deja vu. 

But this was different.  It suddenly hit me that it's over.  Sure, I'll be returning to Italy in May to defend my thesis and graduate.  But school is done.  Some of my classmates are flying home, not to return for graduation.  Others are jetting off to a pizzeria in Naples, a design studio in Florence, a winery in Umbria, free-lance food and travel writing in Berlin, to hug pigs and hairy coos in the Scottish highlands, to work in an organic vegetarian restaurant in Seville.  After months of sardine-like social conditions, we will no longer be privy to everyone's daily moods or share common frustrations over impromptu gourmet potlucks and 4 euro bottles of good Nebbiolo.  It's a little unsettling.

As for me, my jet plane was bound for Bristol in the UK to an unseen flat, an unknown flatmate (albeit a friend of a friend) and an "internship" of undetermined tasks at The Cookery School at Bordeaux Quay.  You never know what will happen when inviting a favourite instructor for dinner, but that meal back in September paid off in spades.

A short verbal tussle with the young customs officer ("no sir, it's more a research project than an internship"), a bus ride through rolling green hills dotted with thatched cottages and a village called "Downside", a rapid cab ride through steep streets lined with brightly-doored row houses, and I was lugging my suitcases up 4 flights of stairs to the top floor flat.




Toasting my new adventure tonight with wine and spicy curry prepared by my new flatmate, Italy already seems like a distant memory.