On the absurdities of kitchen life

Looking for Lars's finger, being stabbed by a Sea Bass and the legend of Victor's socks.

Lars was cutting mirepoix for fish stock that morning, looking like an extra from Night of the Living Dead, through sheer exhaustion. We all looked like that. We were surviving on about four hours of sleep a night, working sixteen-hour days with enough time to smoke a couple of cigarettes in the afternoon as our break. The previous week the young Swede’…