Six days ago, I was staring at the clock in the kitchen, wondering why the damned hands wouldn't move. Time just didn't seem to pass at the normal rate, if anything, it might as well had been moving backwards.
Five days ago, I was running around the kitchen frantically, remembering that it was probably going to be my last time doing that so I might as well go ahead and run around frantically and get as many things done as possible.
Four days ago, I walked around the kitchen in a stupor - I didn't feel like talking much and I didn't feel like eating. I was mindlessly munching on some almonds and cleaning the insides of the cupboards when I felt someone throw ice at me. It then hit me (along with the very cold ice) that I was going to be finished with my six month internship that very day.
I went back for dinner service, still rather dazed, and commenced with my usual job of chopping up tomatoes for snacks for the cafe and watched the chef pour nine glasses of champagne, knowing we had a group tonight. I was putting the tomatoes into little bowls when the chef waved everyone over and then only did I realize that the bubbly wasn't for the group - it was for me.
I swallowed, hard.
Everything became a blur after that. I remember watching six of my friends who so happened to be working that fateful Thursday evening, along with the sous chef and the head chef, pick up a glass each and gather around me. I remember the chef explaining that it was my last day and the ones who didn't know looked surprised while the ones who know looked at me with expressions that made me feel like I was dying and it was my last day on earth. I remember just flapping my arms nervously and squeaking for them to don't look at me please don't look at me otherwise I'm going to cry. Then they were raising their glasses to me and I was holding the biggest one full of champagne and I was clinking glasses with them one by one, and they were thanking me and hugging me and kissed my cheek. I remember downing mouthfuls of champagne just so I would have something to do and somewhere to look, then my friend and the sous chef, looking horrified, managed to stop me from causing myself more severe allergies by insisting I put down the glass right now. I promptly handed it to the head chef who downed the remainder in one go. I spent the rest of the night scratching and feeling like a radiator - my face felt like it was burning. Damned alcohol.
And then, I was done. I walked around the kitchen, thanking everyone I saw from the pastry chefs to the room service people to the waiters and waitresses in the chef and then patting every available surface I could reach and walking out of the kitchen half-skipping while trying not to bawl. It was all rather confusing.
There were moments in my last few days (goodness, it does sound like I'm dying) that stuck with me in particular - the sous chef, who barely spoke to me at first, smiling warmly at me and pulling me in for a hug. A colleague-turned-good-friend who annoyed me to death with his nagging but kissed me on the cheek as I held my glass of champagne. Six of my closest friends, who bought me a Polaroid. A Polaroid ! Me, who was just an intern, who made nothing but club sandwiches and burgers and later some tapas for half a year, received a Polaroid from people who I could never imagined I would ever meet, let alone fall in love with. My heart had never felt so full of love, yet it had never ached so badly before.
Not so long ago, I fell in love again. With Pollito, who could have brushed me aside for being a lowly intern girl but instead took me under her wing and gave me so many little gifts and cheered me up and looked after me like a little sister. With Champignon (or Champy as I call her) who never let me work more than she thought I should, which wasn't a lot, who defended me fiercely, who looked after me and everything I did so I would not get into trouble.
With M, who I worked with for a month, who drank tea with me and could read my thoughts and predict my actions to the extent where working with him was like having telekinesis. With Bilel, who was funny and cheerful and annoyingly naggy but always tried to make me smile and was also more clumsy than I was. With Ju, who helped me with a ridiculous amount of bits and bobs and made me promise to marry him should I be single in five years' time.
With Samosa, who nicknamed me sushi and kept me company and gave me chocolates and treats even when he moved to the kitchen next door. With Panda who I rarely saw, but treated me like family all the same and proved to be one of the loveliest girls ever. With my little Swedish fish, whom I only got to know recently but said one of the nicest complements to me, ever, "what would we ever do without you?"
With Chef Mozzarella, who scared the life out of me when I first came, but made jokes and silly faces to see if it would make me laugh, and gave me back massages when I was feeling tense. With A, who loved fishing and had the best sense of humor, who I spent hours giggling with and plotting to kill everyone we didn't like. With Robbie, who, when finding out that I loved cherries, stole so many for me that my entire work station disappeared under what seemed like a hailstorm of the lovely red fruit. With MrGoldenPillarofSeaweed (yes that is his official nickname) who made me copious cups of tea and left my presents at my door and sat with me when I broke and who, I will forever regret losing.
And with Peperoni, who was the kindest, sweetest soul I ever met, who kept me company and always made me smile and who knew when something was wrong before I even realized it myself. I never liked green eyes but suddenly, one day, those became my favorite.
I've been spending every moment I could with them. I leave the country in two days. I haven't packed, I haven't closed my bank account, my skateboard is still out, my ingredients are unused and my bed is still unmade. I don't want to leave. Yes, another adventure awaits, but for now, I want to drink my thoughts away (with coke), dance my heart out (with my two left feet), take so many pictures I run out of film (with my bright yellow Polaroid), love till I cannot give any more.. And see those eyes again.
"You will never be completely at home again because a part of your heart will always be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of knowing and loving people in more than one place."
I made pistachio cookies today, along with packaging a million little presents and writing like notes because there was someone I knew who loved pistachios. And also because I had always wanted to play Santa and I was terrified everyone would forget me within my first week of leaving. But then again, the presents I got for them were perishable so I don't think I make a very good Santa.. Neither did I do a very good job of cementing myself in their minds. But I digress. It was the very least I could do, the only way I knew how to say I love you.
For the cookies:
3 tbsp butter
3 tbsp sugar
2 tbsp pistachio paste
Tiny pinch of salt
1 tbsp sweetened condensed milk
1 1/2 tbsp cornflour
4-5 tbsp flour
40g white chocolate, melted
15g pistachios, chopped
1. Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. This shouldn't take long even by hand. Add the pistachio paste and the salt, mix well. Beat in the sweetened condensed milk as well.
2. Beat in the cornflour then the flour, adding the minimal amount just till the dough comes together. It shouldn't be dry, just to the point where it doesn't glue itself to your fingers. Don't over mix.
3. Pop the dough into the fridge for an hour. Roll into 1/2 tbsp sized balls and put on a microwave safe plate. Microwave on medium (I used 400w) for 20 second intervals until the entire cookie is bubble but not too browned. Test one cookie first. It's done when it seems dry, not greasy and the top is riddled with popped bubbles (not a smooth ball of dough. Not the prettiest cookie but the taste is spot on).
4. Leave the cookies to cool completely on the plate. They're too fragile to move otherwise. Once cooled, carefully dip half of each cookie in the chocolate and then sprinkle with pistachios. Leave the chocolate to set before boxing and giving away or just eating them all since this makes a relatively small batch.
*you could use another chocolate or another nut, or even sprinkles of hundreds and thousands if you are so inclined but I have a friend who adores pistachios and white chocolate but has never had them together. This is my (experimental) way of trying to convince him. In the meantime, I've already managed to convince myself - these cookies are amazing. And the dough, don't even get me started.
