Working the Line

I had spent the first two weeks at Restaurant Martín Berasatégui observing lunch and dinner services, noting every slice, scoop and pivot in each micro-station within my pescado partida.  I consider myself an apt observational learner and told my impatient self, “Your turn will come in due time. Learn now from the triumphs and failures of others so maybe later, you won’t drop the ball.”

On the other hand, there’s no knowing until you [physically] do. So finally, I did. Last week I had the opportunity to work the line, to prove myself as a chica in the kitchen. The pescado partida is testosterone-heavy and to infiltrate the male hierarchy is nearly impossible as it is based on seniority. Meritocracy has little weight in any of the partidas. Lucky for me, Sammic beca + Asian charm have some leverage and I wriggled my way between the plancha (grill) and the foam micro-stations. I figured even if I can’t eliminate male chauvinism, at least I can show what this girl is made of: hustle, accuracy, resilience.

Aire de Espardeña (Sea Cucumber Air)

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