After the Bohol earthquake, supertyphoon Haiyan/Yolanda swept through the Visayas, which is the central part of the Philippines, narrowly avoiding Cebu, and leaving a trail of massive destruction in its wake. So much has already been written on this subject that I don’t wish to dwell on it; I only would like to mention that the response from the private sector has been amazing and heartwarming. Nevertheless, it will take years for the areas affected to recover, and we can just hope that the newly rebuilt areas will be safer and more prosperous.

Back to the Café, where I have had to look back on my first experiences in the kitchens of Michelin-starred restaurants in France. I remember thinking to myself that I never wanted to have one such star, should I one day have my own place. The way it affects the chef/owner was just painful to watch; the pressure is immense. The French take their food way to seriously (I am sometimes guilty of this) – as they do their language, and, let’s face it, sometimes themselves (I can say this, I am French!). It’s not only about taste; it’s about presentation, timing, temperature, harmony, and knowledgeable wait-staff (I’m talking fine dining here).

I used to find ludicrous the whole military–style system wherein the chef is always right, and there was only one response to anything s/he had to say, and that response was “Oui, chef!” You had to say it like you meant it, more like a bark really, than an utterance. So I find myself in my kitchen, with my cook, asking her to do something a certain way, and deep down inside I am expecting a heartfelt “Oui, chef!” and instead I get a lengthy explanation in Tagalog about why she chose to do it this way and not another. This happens again and again. I have to take a pause because I just don’t know what to say.  All of a sudden, everything makes sense – the mean chefs and the screaming and the fearful slaves in the galley from my internships. Because when you start out at the bottom of the ladder in a French kitchen, that’s pretty much what you are (unless you are born into a family of famous chefs like Anne-Sophie Pic). If each of the members of the “brigade” were to discuss the chef’s orders, it would be total anarchy, and impossible to send any food out of the kitchen. Of course we are in Cebu, my team consists in me and my cook, so the situation is incomparable. Still, I don’t know what to say. Filipinos do not like to address issues head on; they find it offensive. An employee who up till a small incident was happy, would sometimes rather resign or leave than have a difficult discussion.

So I take a deep breath, listen to why my cook did something a certain way, and calmly explain to her how I would like to have it done and why. This I will have to do over and over again, since I am not in France, in a fancy restaurant with twelve cooks attending four different kitchen stations. And it is just as well.