It was hard to change from the working mindset to everyday life.
The last day I worked, the rest of the kitchen was doing a double, working a huge elitist elaborate event called the Swan Ball. I would have been too, making my last day fourteen hours, except that I had an afternoon conflict. Then my conflicting event got postponed, but I still kept my promise to work up to the Swan Ball, not the event itself. In fact, I did the dessert, although I was not there to see it laid out in full glory 650 times. Appropriately, my swansong.
A milk chocolate semifreddo in a savarin mold on a dark chocolate wafer, filled with an orange crème anglaise. The plate had a swoop of orange sabayon sprinkled with chocolate pearls and candied orange zest. The garnish was an orange tuile cookie molded to look like a flower. They were fragile, so we sent 700. You always send extra of everything in catering. Every part had been tested, to make sure it could sit out for the time it takes from plate-up to table service, and still be perfect. Success is in the details.
Around 5:00, I asked if there was more to be done. There was some minor stuff, and the rest of crew could definitely handle it. The sous-chef looked at me and said “Go retire.” I held out my keys, the ones I’d been walking around with for more than 10 years. He looked confused, and I pointed to the front door and the office. He said to leave them on the stainless steel prep table I was standing near, and I left.
The chef was driving up as I was leaving. I told him I’d enjoyed working with him, which was mostly true, and got in my car. It was no different than normally going home on a Saturday, a day without rush hour. I drove the same route I had for 11 years, and went home.
I live in a restaurant/shopping desert. We have one real restaurant. It’s Mexican. So my husband and I went there, and I had a margarita to celebrate. We’d been working hard to get the Swan Ball prepped. I felt dazed and tired, same as I would without being retired. The drink helped me relax, trying to make it real.
I barely had time to prepare for my writers meetup the next day, as so often happened. I was spent, pushing myself. I parked, and in closing the Spotify app on my phone, I realized I was also closing the same apps I always had open. And wouldn’t anymore. Real life doesn’t call for calculators and timers every day. I saw my gas tank was low, and wondered where to fill up. I had always bought gas at the same station 2 blocks from the kitchen.
A writer friend congratulated me, and asked me how it felt. It would have been my day off anyway. I didn’t feel retired at all.
But I knew I’d done a great job.
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