The Not-So Five-Star Chef

SUGAR

By Lizzie

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To the children at Head Start and my family, who always support me.

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“Happy Birthday honey!” Paul’s mother exclaimed, “I hope you had a nice day off from work at the farm today. Back to work tomorrow?”
Sadly, Paul stared at the dirty kitchen floor and nodded.
“Would you like to go to Le Porc to celebrate?” she asked. Le Porc was Paul’s favorite restaurant.
“Yes!”

An hour later, Paul and his mom arrived at the restaurant. Amazed by the wondrous smells emerging from the kitchen, he wished he could create beautiful dishes like the ones Le Porc served. That’s when he decided he would be a chef, not a farmer.
He took a deep breath and said, “Mom, I don’t want to work at the farm anymore! I want to be a chef!” Paul’s mom stared at Paul like he was frozen in ice.

I don't want to be a farmer!

She was silent as Paul stormed over to the
kitchen doors. He wanted to talk to the head
chef and ask him if he could work here. When
he burst through the doors, he saw countless
pigs buzzing around the kitchen. And only
pigs. Not a single different animal in sight. When
he thought about it, he realized all the waiters
were pigs too. Paul walked to a short pig with
huge glasses who was chopping onions.

He's in his office, of course.

Excuse me, do you happen to know where the head chef is?

The pig continued, “Hey! Wait a minute, you shouldn’t be in here𑁋” But Paul was already at the office door.

The head chef was sitting behind a desk in a large, throne-like chair that seemed like it was made for an animal the size of a polar bear rather than the size of a pig.
Typing on a computer, the chef said in a deep scratchy voice, “Can I help you?”
Paul decided to get straight to the point, “I was wondering if I could work at your restaurant.” It was silent, and then the chef started laughing and snorting uncontrollably.
“You want to work at my restaurant? Are you crazy? My restaurant only expects the best, the most, the very tippity-top! And you are a sheep! I only want pigs at my restaurant. They’re better.” Paul thought that was unfair. He hadn’t even gotten to know Paul!

“I've dreamed of working here! Please, I’ll make you a cake to prove how great a chef I am!” A rush of guilt hit Paul like a rock. He was an awful cook. He couldn’t make a cake.
“Well, I suppose you could come and present one of your cakes to me, since you seem to be so excited. Tomorrow 12:30, sharp. By the way, the name’s Piggles. George Piggles,” George informed him with a sly grin.
“Thank you!” Paul said. George raised an eyebrow, “Oh, yes, my name is Paul Gillman.”

1ST

Paul spent the evening attempting to bake a triple-layer black forest cake with swiss meringue buttercream and panna cotta filling. It didn’t take him long to discover that the recipe was a little ambitious for his first try. He decided to make a simple chocolate cake instead. Paul got to work. He realized he was having fun. His mom had always told him he should enjoy whatever he does.
“If you’re not having fun, you should find a way to enjoy it, unless it’s paying the bills,” she had said, “you should always pay the bills. And let me tell you, that’s NOT fun.” His mom hadn’t spoken to him on the way home. Paul thought to himself, she can’t be mad at me, if I’m doing what I love, right? The cake looked amazing, and Paul decided to go to bed.