Chapter 9

As the other students filed out of the classroom, Matthew heard his name called.

“Mr. Conner. A moment, please.”

Matthew turned back and found Chef Girard regarding him with a serious look on his usually cheerful demeanor. Matthew ran through a mental inventory of his recent work, wondering if he’d made some error in technique or judgment.

“Yes, Chef?” he responded, approaching the front of the now-empty classroom.

Chef Girard studied him silently for a moment, his eyes lingering on Matthew’s skewed, twice broken nose. The chef’s own face bore marks of a different kind—a scar along his jaw, another above his eyebrow.

“Sit,” he commanded, his gesture toward the front row chair.

Girard dragged another chair directly in front of Matthew sat his gaze unwavering.

“You had a rough time of it growing up, huh?” The question was blunt, unexpected.

Matthew tensed. His personal history wasn’t something he discussed, not with classmates, not with instructors. It was the background radiation of his life—he didn’t need reminding.

Before he could formulate a response, Chef Girard continued.

“I understand, believe you me. I grew up on the streets of Montreal.” His accent thickened as he mentioned his hometown. “I know what it is to grow up with only yourself to depend. Huh?”

The “huh?” came with a slight tilt of his head, a mannerism that Matthew now realized was likely a remnant of Canadian French. It made the harsh words somehow less confrontational, more conversational.

“According to the staff, you are doing very well here in school, working hard,” Chef Girard said. “But if I was going to hire someone to run my kitchen, it would not be you.”

The assessment landed like a blow. Years spent in group homes allowed him to mask his emotions, but inside despair settled in his stomach. He had worked hard, had aced every practical and written test, and stayed late to practice techniques.

And he still wasn’t measuring up.

The other shoe he’d been expecting all along had dropped. He rose to his feet.

“Sit down.”

Matthew plopped back down.

“You know why?” Chef Girard didn’t wait for an answer. “It isn’t technique and you work hard enough. Matthew, you have no skill with people.”

The words stung with their accuracy. He had always counted only on himself, focused on survival and improvement rather than connection. Depending on others was weakness.

“You see, a chef is in charge of a team,” Girard continued, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “A team must be inspired, taught, and, of course, disciplined. But you need everyone to be successful, unless your ambition is to cook out of a food truck.” He paused, letting this sink in. “You washed dishes, yes? What happens to all the hard work if it’s served on a dirty dish?”

The example was simple but effective. It stopped his descent into self-pity. He had indeed washed countless dishes, had seen the interconnectedness of restaurant operations up close. Even the most extraordinary meal would be instantly undone by a dirty dish.

“I want to see you making an effort to help your friends who are falling behind,” Chef Girard said, his tone shifting from critique to instruction. “I want to see you socializing.”

Matthew maintained eye contact, though it required effort. His default setting was to absorb instruction without comment, but something about this lecture demanded a response.

“I work with my study group,” he said finally. “Sofia, David and the others. We practice together sometimes.”

Chef Girard waved this off. “But you do not connect. You might cook alongside them. You might answer direct questions. But you do not teach. You do not lead.”

The accuracy of the observation was unnerving. Within his small study group, Matthew maintained his distance, observing but seldom engaging.

“Chef,” he began, uncertain how to frame his response, “I’ve always worked better independently.”

“Of course you have,” Girard replied, not unkindly. “Independence is a survival skill. I have it too. When you cannot rely on others, you learn to rely only on yourself.” He tapped his temple. “It is a smart adaptation for a hard environment. But in a professional kitchen, it is a curse.”

The reference to his background—information Matthew had never directly shared with this instructor—was jarring. But before he could wonder how Chef Girard knew these details, the older man continued.

“I took the time to read your application materials. I know your path to this school was not traditional.” He gestured to his own face, to the scar along his jaw. “You think you are the only who had it tough? No. We all carry marks from our early years. The question is whether they will limit you or strengthen you.”

Matthew felt exposed. Chef Girard had somehow seen past his carefully maintained composure to the uncertainty beneath.

“I’m not sure I know how to be different,” he admitted quietly.

Chef Girard’s expression softened. “I am not asking you to become an extrovert, to be the life of the party. I am asking you to understand that cooking is, at its heart, an act of communication.” He leaned back in his chair. “A chef must communicate—with ingredients, yes, but also with the team that executes his vision. Isolation produces technicians, not professionals.”

Matthew considered this. He had never thought of his self-reliance as a weakness before. It had always been a source of pride.

“For example, there is a student in your cohort, Thomas Miller,” Chef Girard said, changing direction. “He is struggling with basic knife skills. His brunoise looks like it was cut with a lawn mower.”

Despite himself, Matthew smiled at the accurate description. Thomas was enthusiastic but clumsy, his knife work a source of gentle teasing among study group.

“You have exceptional knife skills,” Chef Girard continued. “Better than many who have worked for years in professional kitchens. Tomorrow, after class, I want you to spend thirty minutes helping him improve his technique.”

It wasn’t a request. Matthew nodded, accepting the assignment. “Yes, Chef.”

Seeing his hesitation, Chef Girard leaned forward again. “Let me tell you something about leadership in the kitchen. It is not about being the loudest voice or having all the answers. It is about making others better. About seeing potential and nurturing it.”