“For those who are lost, there will always be cities that feel like home.” -Simon Van Booy

This is exactly what San Diego was to me, a place that felt like home. It was all about taking time, relaxing, appreciating life, making new friends and building new relationships.

It’s a city of sunshine and perfect weather. A place endowed with youth and life. My journey in San Diego started in January of 2016. After taking time off for six months, I was ready to get back to work again. Before I left for the US, I gave my family a big dinner as my farewell party. I remember getting off the train station, walked for a couple of minutes to arrive at the hotel that I am going to work at for a whole year. The crisp cool air gently penetrated my light jacket as I stopped and stood at the hotel towering in front of me. It was a French-inspired hotel and the architecture stayed true to it’s theme. I was expecting the same kind of intensity in the kitchen as what I experienced at L’atelier. I was ready for it.

The next day, I got introduced to the whole team. To my surprise, there were at least six or seven Filipino interns. We were all almost of the same age. The rest of the team comprised of Mexicans, a Ukrainian and an Irish sous chef. On top of the helm is a French chef who almost looked like John Lennon. For the sake of hiding his Identity, I would refer to him as John in this article.

SETTLING IN

I found myself renting a room at a two-storey community housing. I didn’t know whether it was a low-income housing or not. The structure looked old with dated green carpet that ran throughout the house. There were six bathrooms to be shared. My room had a single bed, a sink, a small old tv and a microwave. I wasn’t picky and I value the distance to my work more than anything. Although, the lady across my room was kind of loud, she would always invite her friend over and would always get in trouble with the other tenants for being to noisy at night. I valued the fact that the community house was strategically located close to all the places that I needed to frequent. It’s a 10-15 minute walk to the hotel and close to Balboa park, where I jogged almost everyday. I can still remember the smell of lemongrass while jogging at 5:30 in the morning. 20 minutes of walk and I reach the marina and bid farewell to those who fare the sea.

A 10-minute walk takes me to the Gaslamp Quarter where Brian’s 24/7 restaurant became my go-to spot. They have the best chicken and waffles in town and they are open everyday of the year. If I felt craving for asian food, then there was Ramen Yamadaya, serving some good japanese favorites. On top of this, we discovered a turkish restaurant near the hotel serving up kabobs, gyros and accidentally discovered kunafa—jeez luis it was a revelation to us. California is blessed with having good food. That is what I miss about it.

On some occassions, my friends and I would travel to get dim sum in the suburbs or go grocery shopping at an asian supermarket. San Diego was more accommodating compared to Cape Cod.

BLESSING IN DISGUISE

I immediately found comfort in making friends with the team. We all came from different walks of life. Some were culinary graduates, others were aspiring to be something else. My internship started without the intensity that I was expecting. People were kind of relaxed while working. The Banquets department was busier than the actual restaurant, which was located on the lower floor. The hotel does a lot of corporate lunches, conventions and weddings. It was an easy learning process. Saturdays were the busiest in preparation for Sunday brunch buffet. I got bored really quick and wanted find something else. Within a couple of weeks, I spoke to John saying that I don’t seem to belong to the hotel and asked him if he can tell my agency to transfer me somewhere else (what an arrogant kid I was). He threatened me to just cancel my J1 Visa if I wish to leave. There was nothing that I can do. I was telling myself that it’s going to be a boring year for me here.

I didn’t realize that the lack of high level craftmanship and intensity at work were replaced by a fantastic work-life balance and good friends. Our group became a way to forget my trauma. It sounds dramatic but during that time I was still suffering mental hurdles. For example, I was afraid of messing up. It also bothered me to think that I might not be good enough, I was doubting myself. Robuchon left a scar that took time to heal. I knew I had it in me, but because of all the bad memories at L’atelier, all my confidence was taken away from me. I would always feel it in my gut whenever I get anxiety attacks. It’s crippling your mind and telling you that you can never get pass that stage. My wife, who was my girlfriend at that time, would always comfort me over the phone. It was tough, having to know that you come from a prestigious institution but cannot function 100%. Four years after, I still had nightmares about it. Luckily, John was very accommodating whenever we request a group day off and we made sure to make the most out of it.

We started to go out to dinners and trips to nearby and far-flung locations like Big Bear Mountain. We also visited a winery over at Petaluma. There were also some occasions where we would go to boardwalks, fun times. These people became brothers and sisters. And for as long as the pay was decent and the season-still running, we were out and about.

Washed away back to their natural habitat

One of the best memories that I would cherish were the multiple times when our group would rent a van for the day, set up a small picnic spot and do barbeque near the lake. We would start a bonfire and sit around it, warming ourselves just enough to battle the cool breeze. Sunset turned to evening and I start strumming my guitar and we would just sing songs at the of the top of our lungs. Good days. One of the members got so emotional that he just blurted out the words “Guys, I love you!” in his soft demeanor. We would just laugh and say that it’s starting to be too dramatic. I was happy that time. I started to appreciate having a balanced life between work and enjoying. I no longer worked 17-hour days. I didn’t get yelled at. I’ve never experiened it before. And now, my friends were showing me how to live a life like they have, I had to get accustomed to it.

Birthdays were celebrated like family, there will always be a little of drama amongst the group but nothing too serious that ruined any relationship.

I’M NOT THE BANQUET GUY

I was never a banquet chef, nor do I desire to be one. It’s not my thing. I like the pressure of getting tickets and being able to triumph at the end of service knowing that everything was well executed.

There was an instance where the chef had to go on vacation and left me in-charge of the department. I found myself yelling at the banquet manager about not having a correct guest count as we ran out of entree set ups. It was my ego kicking in knowing that it was my fault but had to show bravado and tower at somebody to save face. We had to come up with 110 plates of the main courses. Little did I know that my line cook had kept the back-up entree set ups in the station cooler. I had it all along but It was too late for me to take back what I did to the manager. The news reached to John and I had to explain. I said my apology to the manager and everything went back to normal.

THE TAKE OVER

Until on time, John and his sous chef had an altercation. The sous chef quit the next day. He saw in me the potential to take over the restaurant outlet. I willingly took the challenge and everything started to feel familiar. I ran the restaurant as an intern, applied all that I learned from L’atelier. The chef gave me full authority to create all the dishes that deem to benefit the restaurant. In a matter of months, I received the employee of the month award, recognizing my effort for the restaurant. I remember having vegan guests who were journalists, made them a custom menu and a dish with just ripe tomatoes, clarified tomato jelly and some greens. They were blown away. There was a businessman who frequents our restaurant just for the chilean sea bass. Whenever I come to his table he would always tell me that he knew whether I was the one cooking the fish or not. These people gave me the drive to work even better. Management started to appreciate what I do and made John’s life easier knowing that he has somebody to rely on.

There was a day when I decided to scrub the hood of my kitchen. I took my shoes off and stepped on the countertop and started scrubbing all the gunk and crud. I didn’t know that the chef came by to visit me and saw half of my body covered by the hood. He didn’t say a word and just left. The following week, I got promoted as a sous chef. As a J1 intern to be promoted as a manager doesn’t happen that often. You have to have dedication and passion in what you do. I never expected that reward. I was tearing up when I received the promotion.

This is where some young cooks in America fail. If you followed my previous blog, I outlined how the current generation demands so much without the capacity to deliver what is expected out of them. They want to see the bounty first before executing the deed. It does not work like that. One must put in the hard work first and everything will follow.

The season hit and we started to become busy at the restaurant. San Diego Comic Con and Opera week were the biggest events of the city. During those times, I would receive help from the banquet cooks. The chef would create a menu for me to prep for. I saw the delight in the chef’s eyes whenever he would expo and watch us from the kitchen sending out all the dishes in an orderly and fast manner. I have a spoon on-hand checking everything that came out. I became good at delegating tasks to my line cooks, each and every one knew what they had to do. We were not making fine dining food but man, the love and soul were there.

I started to appreciate learning how to forgive myself slowly and let go of all the hatred inside. It’s tough, I wish I can share to you how it felt like, even my wife gets the feel of it sometimes. Robuchon kitchens are ran in a militant way, which is good if you are learning, and they are not even the extremes. In Europe, I’ve heard kitchens where you only get two towels a day or just send you home if you can’t execute even a simple task. What does that do to your mental health? I can only imagine. Constantly being yelled at to strive for perfection or somebody just being next to you telling you how awful you are, that plants a bad seed in the mind. I had to remind myself that this isn’t a Michelin star restaurant anymore. I need to take it easy. Although, there will still be times when I would snap like I own the hotel. There was a time when I found myself yelling at the AGM of our hotel for some stupid reason that one of the servers was just too lazy and complained too much about where the food was plated on. Good times.

THE RIGHT SPOUSE

I got married in San diego. It was a shotgun wedding that just happened out of nowhere. Mind you, I organized and planned everything while my soon-to-be-bride was having the time of her life in Miami. It was a yacht ceremony with 34 attendees, officiated by the captain himself. We said our vows while the San Diego Skyline served as our backdrop. We had the perfect weather that day. I saw my wife at her best in her beautiful gown, walking down the aisle. I started crying. All the memories that we had and how much she hated my career but still supported me anyways struck me. My family and her relatives flew in. We came up with fun games and the event was a blast. All of our 80’s music playing, good food and good company, what more can you ask for?

I didn’t realize that we got married a very young age. She was 24 and I was 25. It is very important for a chef to have the right spouse. Having the right one will define the longevity of your career in this industry. It will also dictate how far you will go, whether you will be successful on not. Not having a supportive spouse will lead you to give up everything because he/she will not understand the long hours and will start complaining why you choose to work instead of spending time with him/her. I’ve thought about quitting a couple of times, but I persisted thanks to my wife for reminding me that in her line of work, there’s no means for an individual to make people happy. It’s just all about reports, meeting deadlines and looking at numbers, while on the other hand, chefs have the capacity to delight guests and make memorable experiences the moment they take the first bite. It is a labor of love to spread more love. When I cook, I cook out of love and not to impress. These are two different concepts. There is cooking where you just want to have the best techniques and the flavor, but it doesn’t satify the soul. On the other hand, there is cooking where everything is present, whether the dish may be simple or not, but it warms and captivates the soul as well. The only way you can cook like this is when it comes from the gut. I always ask my wife “We’ve been married for 6 years now and you don’t lose weight, why?”

“It’s because you always cook good food.” she would say.

I would then counter saying that it’s not my fault that she eats a lot and she needs to control her appetite. But what I notice is that my wife is happy. Ask her and she would tell you. She would always come back to her office from lunch feeling satisfied and be the envy of the entire office because they know that she is well taken care of by the husband.

Don and his Vegetable Patch

Don was a maintenance officer at our hotel. He was a black fellow who is married to a chinese lady from Hong Kong. We got a long really well because he would speak some words in Cantonese, mostly funny ones. He wanted me to call him “Hak kwai” or Black Ghost in Cantonese because that’s how other asians call him whenever he goes to the asian grocery store. He would take me to his vegetable patch somewhere south and just sit down and enjoy the fresh air. Don has a very kind heart and would always make sure that you are ok. He was into music as well. He was so fascinated by how I played the guitar and told me that one of our valet guys actually play really good as well. So, we arranged a time where the three of us where at his patch and boy did the other guy play better than me. He made me want to quit playing, and I thought I was good already. I cannot remember the name of the fellow. But those times were fun.

GOODBYE SAN DIEGO

After a busy december, my contract was nearing its end. My wife and I planned to drive to San Francisco so I can leave her there with her aunt. As an intern, you have a month to roam the US and have everything ready for your departure. At work, I said all my goodbyes to the team and to John. At the apartment, I said my goodbyes to the two caretakers of the house. I still remember one them asking me whether I am sure that I'm leaving because we still had 8 days before our rent ends. I politely said “Yes, it is time to go.”

With a Dodge Caravan and all our stuff packed in the back, we traveled north for 12 hours without looking back.

San Francisco, the city that I would always fall in love with, will become my home for the next two years.

My Story Part 3-San Diego

My Story Part 4-San Francisco

The Importance of Traveling