Speeding down a dirt road through the vineyards in a little 1982 baby blue golf. Passing row upon row of budding rose bushes that line the end of each trellis. Sun in my face and the ocean wind whipping through my hair, I’m content, I’m headed home.. to the beach. This morning at work was exhausting, with breakfast service, lunch… and room service. The kiosk needed restocking. This I enjoy, and the pastry chef has finally let me take some responsibility in that I can lay out all of her chocolates and daintily arrange the freshly baked breads and croissants. Aah the smell and feel of a perfectly warm just baked croissant, If you don't know as to what I'm speaking of, please do yourself a favor. 

Setting up the poissonier station for lunch service, checking then double checking each ingredient. I will admit that this station still makes me a bit jumpy. The temperature of the pan the oils or butter you add and when to add them. The way you place the fish into each pan and discovering the ‘hot-spots’ in each oven. Its very exciting and I'm a bit obsessed with getting a perfect skin on each trout. This in full disclosure, had gotten me into some trouble because I may or may not have slowed the kitchen down with my infatuation. The chef is German, and clearly not impressed. 

Nearing the end of this service we pack away what isn't needed for dinner service and quickly reset the kitchen so that we can start to prep for a wedding that is scheduled for tomorrow. Hotel trays and plate trolleys are pulled out and set up. Everywhere you look cooks are buzzing around, a new shift of cooks and chefs have arrived to prep for this evenings dinner service. Cucumbers are diced in perfect little squares, fennel is sliced paper thin on a mandoline. A chef comes to ask my assistance for what looks like at least 15 carré d’agneau, using a small knife she shows me how to “french” each bone. This is a very enjoyable new task, each rack needs to look identical to the next. Yet, some have the bones tightly lined up and others more freely, and other have more fat then the next … small things like this intrigue me. Lamb from the Karoo is delicious they feed off of bossies, herbs, and rivierganna which in a sense is like a edible spice market in the dry african terrain making the flavor of the meat distinctly herbaceous. 

I pack up my knife bag and head outside into what has turned out to be a bloody hot late afternoon.
Making my way over to the chef who'd just shown me my way around a lamb rack, she asks for a cigarette, we smoke in silence on a little wall that has the largest view of the Stellenbosch valleys. Saying that we should meet up for drinks tonight, she rushes back into the kitchen to finish her setup before dinner starts. 

I have been working at a small boutique hotel in the middle of the South African winelands. There is so much I learn each day, the kitchen alone has a separate cooled room just for butchering and a complete area just for pastry… nothing like I’d ever seen before. The views of the grounds are incomparable to any view from a basement kitchen in New York. Ive been hopping from station to station, scolded at almost daily but not dishearten even a little. 

There are a couple cooks that I am comfortable enough to ask a question or two from. I’m growing, something new each day. This is where my trainee days where. Surrounded by good wine and food, african sun in my face, strolling on a little trail.. pigments of red dirt on my bare feet as I head toward the nearing the beach sands. Antarctica is closer then a passport said I came from, but here is where my heart will forever stay. My childhood was here, my love for food blossomed here. My mind is at peace here.  

Food. Beach. Mountain. Wine