by forkitude
My last two months could be a real life idiot’s guide to how to move to New York City and work at a Michelin star restaurant. (Tip #13: don’t pay for a subway ride until you’re sure it’s going in the right direction.) Carrying two suitcases stuffed with knives, chef pants, white t-shirts, and high heels for abusing my feet on the streets of NYC, I boarded a plane to Newark, NJ. Upon landing, I realized the last time I had been in New York City had been as a financial advisor a few years prior. It was with great pleasure that I deplaned knowing that I would not have to give financial advice or go to a training seminar; I would be elbow deep in sacher torte batter and klimt biscuit.
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