Why I never became a chef.
My first training after school and began culinary school. how I got there, you can learn reading the post Confession "flyer" or as I like to work changed.
About how did the study, it is necessary to write separately. The internship I got to open a student canteen at the Oil Institute. What do you mean "open"? This means that in the dining room could eat anyone, not just students. I got an Intern in the soup Department. And there I thought, the error in the choice of profession.
After a day on the feet. Constantly carry hefty big pan with the finished soup on the "distribution". Break bones for the broth. Infinitely something chopped.
The only rest on cutting out eyes from potatoes after potato. Because it can be done while sitting!
Honestly, when I got the summons to the army, I was glad. A little more and I would have gone myself. In this case the diploma of the cook definitely would not have received.
In the army, I deliberately did not go to work in the kitchen. Perhaps in vain. But I have never regretted it. Still the army is a good school of life and pass her in the kitchen, not very interesting.
When I returned from the army, began to look for a job in the profession. Chose the dining room is gated at the research Institute. There as I worked I a little described in the paper History of my life. As I in the women's team rabotal.
I was very tired physically. Because any hard work is definitely required my presence. I always had to help a single loader, dry lanky man. retirement age, unloading grocery trucks.
In short, I decided to leave. Leave to cook on drilling. On the territory of Bashkortostan. People there were less. To prepare, many do not. But.
In the evenings the van - dining room has become a place where thumps drillers. And I became rarely been sober. For I am prepared for them, and they poured me.
Who complained to the authorities. I was called on the carpet. I listened and wrote a letter of resignation. Labour did not give a month. When I again went to the Director and explained that they will have to pay me for those days how many they have is a work book, I gave it. Labor.
The more I cook, didn't work. Diploma to gather dust as a reminder of the first class.
I like to cook. I know how to do it well enough. But to work as a cook in the dining room or cafe, I just will not. Well, not my, not mine.)