It was my first day. I walk into the room with its large windows and the sun beating in. It was hot. The walls are plastered with white tiles, reflecting the sun. The back of the room has a draining system for the water with a floor that ever so slightly tilts down as I walk through. There are twenty five metal tables, twelve on each side with one in the front. At each table stands at least two people. Their uniforms awkwardly fit, uncomfortable with the thick fabric and the heat of the summer day. I take a look at myself and with my jacket buttoned to the very top, my black and white apron wrapped around me, and my hat tied securely on my head, I almost feel like I’m playing dress up. But then again I’m excited.
Suddenly, a harsh voice, easily identifiable as a French accent begins to speak. All of these French terms are being thrown at me. Shoot. I should have taken French in High School instead of Spanish! Not that I remember anything from Spanish anyways… She’s speaking faster and faster and everyone around me begins to move towards the washing sink in the back room. We wash our hands, once, twice, three times. The movement in the room feels almost like an army with perfect lines and precision. We stand in an order as she walks through the lines checking our uniforms. She even asks one man to take off his shoes so she can see the color of his socks. “Blue?” She asks him with a condescending tone. He looks down at his feet and we all can see the sweat come down his face. She rolls her eyes and continues her inspection. She stops. Oh no. She gets to the small girl with pretty long blonde hair who looks absolutely terrified. “Vud I vant your dirty hair in my croissant?!” Quickly, the girl tied her hair up and covered it with her hat. And she continues. She stops at me, I definitely stopped breathing for those few moments, and with a quick glance at my uniform, she continues on her way.
Again she speaks, by now I’ve gotten used to the accent. Her quick comments don’t make me jump as they did. Now, we begin. With a small smile I can see the passion she has for this work. We begin to speak about chocolate, all the different types of chocolate. My French may not be so great, but this stuff I know.
In third grade we had this project where we had to write to our favorite company asking them questions about their products. I chose Hershey’s Chocolate. I wanted to know why Hershey’s didn’t come out with a non dairy, but milk chocolate cake. In fact, why didn’t they sell Hershey’s chocolate cake and only chocolate bars? I thought it was a brilliant idea and Hershey’s would definitely take me up on it. After they received my letter, I was sure they would call me and beg for me to come be the owner of Hershey’s. And then of course I could eat all the chocolate I wanted.
After weeks of waiting for the response to my letter, it finally came. A small package in the mail addressed to me. I couldn’t wait to rip it open. Enclosed in the package was a letter from customer service explaining that a non dairy, but milk chocolate cake would be impossible. I was flabbergasted. How could they say impossible! Didn’t they realize how great my idea was! And then the letter continued explaining that they did not make cakes, but listed were a few “top secret” recipes which included Hershey’s chocolate. I quickly folded up the recipes and stuck them under my pillow making sure not to share these secrets I shared with Hershey’s.
Today, I have no recollection if I ever even tried out these “top secret” recipes that must be listed on google. I have no idea where they went after sticking them under my pillow, but I bet my mom had something to do with it after finding a paper with black ink next to my white pillow which could potentially stain the white and then the world could come to an end. So I bet they made their way to some trash can or a recycling bin somewhere.
Even though I was heartbroken after Hershey’s didn’t find me to be brilliant, I continued on with my love for chocolate. Unlike my dreams of a Willy Wonka world, chocolate doesn’t come from chocolate filled rivers. It is processed from the cacao bean which is cultivated in Africa and South America. There are many types of chocolate, ranging from dark, milk, to white, and more. The chocolate we know is made from grinding cacao beans to form cocoa solids and cocoa butter. Much of what we eat contains those two ingredients as well as another form of fat and sugar. Milk chocolate is a sweetened chocolate that contains as it says clearly in its name, milk. White chocolate, on the other hand is not really a chocolate. It only contains one ingredient out of the main two, cocoa butter. Cocoa butter, sugar, and milk form that decadent goodness.
The French lady continued to speak. On the table, she had a large stone slab, there she poured melted chocolate and with two frosting knives, she began to temper it. Tempering chocolate is the secret to professional looking products. It allows for smooth looking chocolate with a shiny and both satisfying finish. The chocolate on the table looked oh so good and the finished product looked way better than any Willy Wonka chocolate I had imagined.
If I could do anything, but be here, in school. I would be in the kitchen, making great food. Because food has this awesome ability which nothing else can compare. Food has the ability to connect people, make them happy. It brings out customs and cultural traditions. A familiar ingredient can bring someone racing back to their childhood without even saying a word… Just the sight, the smell, and of course the taste is what’s important. Bursts of flavor stimulate memories that can put a huge smile on one’s face, maybe even shed a tear. And that’s why I love it. Because food isn’t just something we eat to stay alive. It’s personal.
