Letters from Lisbon – Part 5 

There’s a lot to tell about this week. I worked on the cold side of the kitchen for the first time, two instructors came to visit the restaurant, and in the meantime, I’m working my fingers to the bone on my thesis, constantly adding to my to-do list as the next deadline approaches. Fortunately, the weather’s been good, though at first glance that might not seem like a logical follow-up to the story of how I once improvised a menu for fifteen nuns at a convent. I’ll explain how I managed to pull that off in a moment. 

First of all, the kitchen. Up until then, I had always helped out with the hot dishes during prep. My internship lasts a total of four months. I really wanted to use that time to fully master the dishes and the way we work, which is why I planned to stay on the same station for as long as necessary. Eventually, I reached a point where I felt it was a good time to switch, partly because I naturally wanted to experience as much of the menu as was at all possible. As the weeks went by, I began to experience a feeling I’d always dreamed of; I started to find my footing, to have a clear head while working, to maintain order in the section of the kitchen I was using, and to fully understand what I was doing. I knew which part of which dish I was preparing, what the other components of that dish were, at what point in the menu it was served, and why it had to taste and look a certain way. 

Having this feeling—in a Michelin-starred restaurant (in a country where the sun shines and the average temperature is ten degrees higher than in Belgium)—was something I’d always wanted to experience. Over the past 2.5 years of my training, there were also many moments when I thought I’d never achieve this. But fortunately, my determination to succeed was always stronger than my fear of the risk of disappointment if I actually couldn’t make it. And that’s exactly why I’m now working at the vegetarian Michelin-starred restaurant that, if I were to rank all the restaurants I’d considered, would be at the very top of my list. It’s been almost three years since I first stepped into a professional kitchen, at a monastery in the Netherlands. I stayed there for a week as part of a hands-on internship during high school, and because the chef was on vacation that week, I ended up in that kitchen.

I then improvised a menu for the fifteen sisters, together with a classmate and the two sisters who took us under their wing amid the highly structured life of the convent. I think it was when we all silently entered a room that was set up like a church (but turned out to be the refectory) that I came up with an idea. The tables were arranged in a circle around our mini catering buffet, and I saw everyone enjoying our food. The silence that is normally observed throughout the day was always broken during meals by the mother superior reading passages from the Bible. It was then that I thought, “Cooking in a good restaurant must be really great fun.” That thought has now even brought me all the way to Lisbon. 

Also visiting Lisbon this week were two teachers who came to visit me at my internship; they had arranged to meet with the boss for a mid-term evaluation and had planned a dinner with me at a restaurant of my choice. 

To make an informed choice, I decided to ask a few locals about their favorite restaurant in the region where you can experience traditional Portuguese cuisine. After all, I naturally wanted to take advantage of my current location to get the best of the best. That’s how I narrowed it down to three options: Prato, Canalha, and Pica Pau. I ended up making a reservation at Canalha, and so, on a Thursday evening, three Belgians walked in, looking to discover the authentic flavors of Portugal. The menu layout was quite unique because all the dishes were listed one after another, with no distinction between, for example, appetizers and main courses—though there was a separate category for meat and fish. It turned out to be a sharing concept, where they adjust the portions based on the number of people in your party and serve everything themselves in the order that works best. We ended the evening with a generous assortment of various small dishes, including duck mussels, Pastéis de Bacalhau, and the like. 

By the way, I always intend to include photos with my memories, but in reality, I’m always the one who completely forgets to take pictures because I’m so overwhelmed by everything I actually wanted to photograph. I did manage to capture a snapshot of the meal, though.

The performance review was even more positive than I expected. Of course, I do my absolute best to make sure everything I do turns out perfectly and to learn as much as possible from everything and everyone around me. 

One of the evaluation criteria was the extent to which the student (me, in this case) continues to learn, even outside of the internship. Continually learning is an important part of a chef’s identity. At first, the chef had said that he didn’t think anyone at the restaurant actually continued to study in practice once they went home, because the work is already so demanding. But he also said that, ultimately, he didn’t know what I did on my days off and therefore wanted to give a score of six out of ten for that criterion. I was then given the chance to add something if I wanted to, and I began to describe my thesis in vivid detail. I could tell everyone was quite impressed—I think especially by the passion with which I spoke about those lesser-known vegetables and how evident it was that I really wanted them to be used more in (Belgian) haute cuisine. The original six was changed to a nine out of ten. And on top of that, the chef said that if I’m spending my days off on this, I really am “one in a million.” I think I’m going to frame that sentence. 

Of course, it wasn’t just some ideal answer to the question of what I do in my free time. It’s actually a summary of the first few hours of my days over the past week. Every morning before I left, I analyzed marketing strategies to raise awareness of lesser-known vegetables and tried to incorporate these into a system that could address this on a larger scale. That led me seamlessly to the next (rather personal) sub-question that I absolutely wanted to get to the bottom of before submitting my work by the upcoming March 31 deadline. That question is: to what extent would my productivity and creativity improve if, on my days off, I wandered through the streets of Lisbon just like other tourists—with the difference that I’d carry my 900-gram laptop in my backpack and pull it out to write on my thesis for at least an hour at every quiet spot I came across before moving on? So, over the past month, my days off have mainly been devoted to this research question and that of my thesis. As a preliminary assessment, I’d say that once I’m working, I’d give it an 8/10 for the quality of my productivity and an 8.5/10 for creativity, because walking gives me more space to evaluate ideas, which often leads to new insights or subtle improvements. In terms of efficiency, I’d give it a 4/10, since I always turn it into a full-day activity. Though I do think it’s a good way to make the most of the surroundings, while still getting a serious amount of work done. And that was necessary. 

March 31 was, in fact, the deadline for an important part of my thesis—and really the last deadline that required a lot of substantive work. I’m pretty much a perfectionist when it comes to writing (and pretty much everything else). With everything, I ask myself: “Is this really the best way to explain this? Can this be explained in even greater depth? Is this conclusion too simplistic? Are there nuances I’m overlooking right now that might influence the results?”  And so, for every item I cross off my to-do list, I often end up adding three more—ideas I want to elaborate on further or decisions I want to present in a more nuanced way. 

Fortunately, writing is one of the things I love doing most, besides cooking. So I’m definitely enjoying myself here—in case I made that sound a little too subtle.

Thanks for reading, and see you in the next letter!

Best regards,

Zoë