“New York, New York” a blog so good they named it twice by Stuart Ralston

Being chosen to be in the Fine Dining kitchen brought a high that was short-lived.

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After my initial elation, reality set in and things became a lot clearer. I had never worked at this level before, and the sheer amount of work one had to get through under rough conditionswas taxing. I was a prep room slave.

I broke down cases of globe artichokes, peeled more cippolini onions than I care to remember, shelled peas, turned radishes etc, all in a dark, sterile, windowless basement of the hotel. It was small, cramped and full of miserable people (me included) who desired to be upstairs where all the proper action was. It almost felt like a treat when you had finished your four cases of artichokes so you could run up to the Chef de Partie on that section and show him the fruits of your labour.

He would quickly take them off your hands, quipping about how quickly he expected the next prepped veg to be finished. It was in those few seconds out of my dungeon that I got to see the waiters, service, chefs and everyone in full flight, and the thought that it wouldn’t be long before people started dropping like flies under the pressure and I might get moved up to the main kitchen is what kept me motivated.

My predictions were correct, and it wasn’t long before I found myself called to assist a CDP upstairs. I was so shit scared that I might make a mistake, I nearly made myself sick. I felt this way every day for almost three months. It felt like my first stage in New York all over again. Those old notions of thinking, “I should go home”, or “I am not good enough to be here” all crept into my brain over and over.

The thought of going back home reminded me of the people in my past who told me that I would never make it abroad, and the thought of having to face them gave me determination to stick it out. After a few months I had got through the worst and was now running the garnish section alone. Services were hard. This was the first kitchen in which I learned to deal with high pressure and cope with strong nerves. When critics were in, the kitchen basically resembled something like performing brain surgery in a war zone. 

Before I knew it, I was moved up to run the Fish section, which I felt very confident with. I liked Fish – and I was finally starting to feel comfortable in my own skin at work. As for NYC, things were still a bit of a mystery as I was always working. There was also the reality that I was still broke and still walking to work at 6.30 am.

Around this time, my Mum and her partner came to New York to visit me. It felt good showing my mum how far I had come and how different my life was now, showing them Central Park, where to get the cheapest coffee and pizza from (I was an expert as this was still all I ate), the subway - all the things that I had feared now seemed silly. The joy I got from seeing my mums pride in me really fueled me up and motivated me all over again. After all of our hard work at the restaurant, a disastrous review came out – 2 out of 4 stars in the New York Times.

Gordon was hoping for 4, or at the very least 3, so this was inexcusable. Before we knew it, Chef Neil Ferguson was  replaced with Josh Emmet. Josh had a very different management style. He got the kitchen fired up, and not long into Josh’s reign, the Michelin Guide was to be released. There was a nervous anticipation about everyone. No one could guess where we would place. The morning I got to work I saw a lot of happy faces – we had secured 2 Michelin stars!

This was beyond what anyone had predicted, and being a part of a team that achieved it was beyond anything I had felt up to that point in my life. At the end of service Josh shook all our hands, glasses of champagne were poured, then we hit the NYC bars to celebrate. I emailed home, past chefs I had worked for and friends the good news had spread. That feeling will last with me forever, and I hope to repeat it in my own right one day. Unexpectedly one night, I received a phone call around 4 am.

My older brother was badly injured and was in hospital – and it was unclear if he would make it. I told my chef, Josh, the next morning, and he was very understanding and I rushed home. I spent a week at home, watched my brother make a slow but steady recovery, and watched my mother beside herself with worry. I knew my family needed support at this time struggled with the idea of moving home again.  I was confused about what to do, and wrestled with it day and night.

Luckily, my brother pulled through and I knew that if I moved home, I would never go back and finish what I started. Looking back, I am so relieved that I decided to stay in New York – it was a massive decision which really shaped the rest of my life.

I got promoted to Meat and everything was looking up, there was the odd hiccup along the way, few strong bollockings, few arguments in the locker room, but that’s all normal in high-pressure kitchens and it only made me stronger. I was finally feeling like I could live and build a life in NYC. My visa was nearly at the end.