Culinary Dreams

One of the hardest things that I had to face in culinary school wasn’t something you’d think. It wasn’t the struggle to learn how to break down a whole fish or language barriers introduced through french recipes.

The hardest part of culinary school was telling my mother and dealing with her trying to run me down and attempt to convince me to drop out.

My mother is the owner and founder of Diamond Coverage, an insurance company that’s made its way to the fourth best insurance in the country. It was founded when she was 25 and practically fresh out of law school with the help of her wife, to whom she’s only recently married.

For the entirety of my life I’ve been pushed into good grades and AP classes to the point of horrible burnout. I was often lightly punished for getting a B-, which even I thought was ridiculous even though this was my life’s normal.

After being accepted into a bunch of different high strung colleges, my mother wanted the final say, trying to make me go to Northern Bridge University; it was the school with the number one rated law classes with their students having the highest acceptance rates into full time law schools.

When this happened, reality set in. If I didn’t speak up and tell her I didn’t want this, I would be forced into a school I didn’t want to go to and get a degree in something I disliked and didn’t fully understand.

Telling her I would rather go to Pleasant Valley College was like telling her to kill herself with the way she reacted. 

Like Northern Bridge and their law degrees, Pleasant Valley had the best rated culinary classes in the state. It had food festivals and restaurants on campus for the students to work at and learn in. Although it offered plenty of other degrees, it was best known for its culinary work and amazing food.

Instead of even trying to understand or be supportive or even listen, my mother insulted and degraded me. Telling me I would never make it. It was too male dominated and I’d just be their little kitchen maid or dishwasher. I would never make it as a full time chef, I would only be using these skills to please a man in the future. The idea makes me happy now, but one day when I’m poor and relying on a man I’ll regret leaving my mother and the company behind.

Despite the things she said being cruel, I do find it hard to stay mad at my mother. She worked hard to start the company and I know she wants it to be family run to keep the name in it.

It hurt though. I already was plagued by thoughts of self hatred and self doubt. Even if I wanted to take over the company I couldn’t. Either I wasn’t smart enough, or I just wasn’t made for running an insurance company. Too much paperwork and complications and complaints from people. The idea depresses me.

Although everything she said about going into a chef career has the potential to be true. Would it really be that shameful?

Through the encouragement from my friends and my partner, I went against my mother’s wishes and went to Pleasant Valley.

That choice has ended up being the best choice I think I’ve ever made. For the first time in my life, I was having fun learning. I was actually looking forward to classes and getting things done in perfect time. When I made a mistake or got a bad grade, I didn’t worry. I would correct the mistake or make up the grade by redoing it or waiting for more assignments. There wasn’t a constant strain of arguments or lectures over school and grades. It was just learning to cook and being the happiest I’d been in years.

The peace was occasionally disrupted by my mother calling me. A regular conversation would quickly turn into an argument or a debate. She would reiterate that she hates my career path and try to talk me out of it. I only recently gained the confidence to just hang up or ignore her calls when things start going bad like that.

Now, though, the peace was going to be disrupted for longer than just a few minutes of conversation. Although I was renting out a small, cheap apartment on campus, my mother wanted me to visit her now that school was over. 

I don’t disbelieve her when she says she misses me, but sometimes I wonder if she detests me for my choices. The visit won’t be peaceful, and I’m also afraid of my new stepmother's thoughts. No, they aren’t exactly the same kind of person, but she is the cofounder of the company after all.

Currently, I’m driving back to my mother’s place. It’s hard to call it home anymore. When my mother called, she referred to it as my home. Part of me wanted to tell her it’s not my home anymore, but it’d be better to keep the peace.

The drive, which is normally an hour long, was already starting to feel like it was four hours long. Time seemed to drag on. Thoughts of the conversation that would be had and the things I would be told. The thought that maybe even my new step mother, someone I was vaguely acquainted with, would even have negative things to say plagued my thoughts as well.

So, I’m coming up with a plan. I’m going to cook a meal for them and show them all the new talents and skills I’ve learned in my classes. Show them that it’s possible for me to run my own restaurant if working at other’s proved unrewarding. 

It’s time to remain optimistic. She’s my mother. She’ll come around eventually. 

When I got back to my hometown, I stopped by a fresh food market to get good ingredients and specific foods.

My plan is to make pasta noodles from scratch in different colors, which requires spinach, beetroot, and carrots. Although it’s basic and simple, I’ll make a creamy alfredo sauce that’s well seasoned to stand out from normal alfredo. 

Another dish that would go well with the alfredo would be chicken parmesan. Another simple, yet savory dish my mother is sure to like.

As much as I’d like to make more complicated recipes, it’s hard when you lack the resources that the school has. My mother was never one to cook much despite the large kitchen. We only have a microwave and a small electric stove.

After buying the needed ingredients, I finished the drive back to my mothers house.

Parking in the driveway and staring up at the large house was almost foreboding. It filled me with anxiety and part of me wanted to turn around and go straight back to my little apartment. Feels like looking at a haunted house.

As I grabbed the bags out of the back of my car, I was greeted by my mother from the front door. She stepped outside, but didn’t move any further than the doormat. 

“What are those for?” she asked as I approached.

Her voice was low and almost speculative.

“I wanted to cook dinner for us tonight. A celebration for a good school year.” I tried to say it as cheerfully as possible.

Silently, we walked into the house. It was freezing due to the air conditioning and I wished I had a jacket.

As I walked to the kitchen, my mother close behind me, I noticed that the house looked a bit different. More decoration and the walls weren’t empty. It seems like my step mother decided to decorate a bit. The house was pretty dreary when I used to live here.

Neither my mother nor I said anything as I put the groceries away. The air was heavy with tension despite no words being said.

“So, where’s Alma?” I asked.

I didn’t exactly expect a welcome party, but I was curious why I haven’t seen my step mother yet.

“Just got out of the shower. She’ll greet you in a few minutes.” 

Unsure how to keep the conversation going, I just nodded my head.

With the food now properly put away, we went into the living room and sat on the couch. The news was on the TV, but the volume was low and it just sounded like mumbling.

“I ended up getting a perfect score on the final exam,” I said, desperate to both break the silence and start a positive conversation at school.

“That’s nice. Does that lead to a good job opening?”

Of course, she immediately mentions jobs.

“Yeah, actually. There are restaurants on and around campus that hire students. They’re usually able to help find higher paying jobs and high quality restaurants,” I replied coolly.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, her eyes trained on the TV. Her facial expression was neutral and it was hard to tell if she was even listening to me.

“What will happen if you don’t get an offering?” she asked.

Fight pessimism with optimism.

“Then I’ll start looking for other job openings. There are plenty of areas outside of school that are looking for chefs. If I can make a good resume working at smaller restaurants now, it’ll be good for when I look for a more professional avenue.”

“But nothing is certain. Anything can go wrong at any point. You could be mistreated or underpaid. You could be fired. There’s a chance you might not even be hired anywhere,” she argued, her voice still calm and level.

“There’s a chance that will happen in any field,” I pointed out.

My mother sighed, finally turning to face me.

Before she could say anything, I started talking. “When you started the company, there were no confirmations it would make it as far as it did. It could’ve ended up being a tiny company that sits on the side of the road and only deals with three customers. It could’ve gone under at any point! But you still managed.

“If being a chef really falls under as bad as you think it will, I’ll bite the bullet and join the company. But I want this more than I’ve wanted anything. Cooking makes me so happy and it’s a pure passion of mine. I’m not doing it to spite you or be rebellious. I’m doing this because law makes me miserable and I don’t want to be an owner of a whole insurance company. Please. Just let me try and stop running me down.”

Her eyes had widened as I spoke, an expression of shock. It isn’t often I stand up to her. Most of my life I was the golden child who did everything she wished, even when I didn’t want to.

Right now, I’m kind of afraid she’ll disown me.

“She’s got a point, Sofía. Worse comes to worse, I do have a kid of my own you know.”

Alma was now coming downstairs, clearly having waited at the top to hear what I had to say.

She gave me a warm smile as she approached the couch. “I do hope you’re going to show us what you’ve learned while you’re here. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a home cooked meal.”

“I brought some food. I was hoping to talk about things over dinner tonight, but I think we should talk now,” I replied, returning the smile.

It was comforting to know that Alma had my side in this. I didn’t want to cause any conflict between the two of them, but it was a much needed support. If my mother can’t listen to her daughter, maybe she can listen to her wife.

“Maria, you know my whole life I’ve worried about nothing but your future. I want you to be hard working and successful. Although, I was hoping that you would carry the business on after my retirement,” she paused, looking at Alma, then back at me, “I feel like I’ve been harsh on you.”

I was taken aback by that statement and felt tears well in my eyes. No, it wasn’t quite an apology, yet, but I never thought I’d see the day she would admit something like this. Never thought she’d admit she was in the wrong. I definitely didn’t think she’d even pretend to support my culinary dreams.

“I’ve missed you so much while you’ve been away at school and I realized that I may have pushed you away. The business is important to me, but not more important than my daughter. Yes, I am worried that it is a bad career choice and I do fear your failure, but this is the most passionate you’ve been in your life.”

My mother pulled me into a tight embrace, something she hasn’t done in years.

“If something ever goes wrong, this will always be a home for you. There will always be an opening in the company if you ever need it.”

I buried my face into her shoulders, unable to hold in the tears anymore.

“Be the best chef the world has ever seen, Maria. Prove me wrong.”