and What It Takes From You
It's funny. I asked a few people what they thought of this title. Some said it didn't make sense. Others got it right away. Honestly, I relate to it completely, so I'm keeping it.
I'm a pastry chef in fine dining.
I trained in Mauritius at Constance Academy, then at École Ducasse in Yssingeaux, interned in France and Germany, worked in Paris, and currently work as a Pastry Sous Chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant in Dubai.
That sentence sounds polished. The reality behind it isn't.
I didn't get into this industry with a safety net: no family in Europe, little money to fall back on, and no connections waiting to open doors. Just passion, stubbornness, and the belief that if I worked hard enough, it would eventually make sense.
Sometimes it did. Sometimes it didn't.
I’m Mauritian. I learned my craft in Mauritius, mastered it in France, and now work in the Middle East. I exist somewhere between cultures, kitchens, and aspirations.
In that in-between, I've faced my share of challenges: struggles, racism, and subtle prejudices. Some of it was quiet enough for someone else to deny, but loud enough that I felt every bit of it.
Yet I don't want this to read only as a list of hardships. It’s remarkable how much exposure this path has given me: meeting people from every corner of the world, each carrying their own ambitions, all ending up in the same kitchen for our own reasons. I’ve met incredible people abroad, and some of my closest friendships came out of those very kitchens. That same winding, in-between path is also what led me to my partner, who introduced me to a whole new world of his own. Both things are true at once: the difficulty and the beauty, side by side, shaping the same life.
The Hard Part
6 months after my first semester at Yssingeaux, I headed to Paris for my internship. Securing it meant sending applications and chasing recommendation letters from chefs.. that was the easy part. I chose the fanciest option on the list: a Palace Parisienne, renowned chefs, the name on the CV, a "tough and highly demanding" environment. I thought I could handle it. I knew I could. I've always believed I can rise to any challenge and work my way through it. That was the plan for the next 6 months.
Within 2 weeks, I got scammed out of 800€ on an apartment, had to pay for a second place on top of it, and then had my phone and purse stolen, money and all. I didn't tell anyone. I was embarrassed. I put the shame aside and focused on the internship, knowing how hard I'd worked to get there.
In the first week I did everything anyone asked, told them I'd been doing pastry for 3 years already, that I knew the techniques. But I could feel it wasn't landing the way I wanted it to, I wasn’t liked, maybe a cultural gap, maybe something else. Gradually, I started noticing a pattern. Other French interns got to observe the pastry chefs at work; when I did, I was "wasting time" and "being lazy." When they asked questions, they were curious. When I asked, I was "impatient" and "nosy." It got harder by the day, on top of the scam, the theft, and just being new in Paris.
The one bright spot was the sous chef; kind, supportive, and grounded. I never complained to her, but having her around made the hard days bearable.
Other days tested my self-esteem and grit directly.
One time I was distracted, worried about finances, about my career in France, about how I'd manage and the chef asked me to do something. I said "yes." What came back was a ‘Yes who?’ from the chef and a hot offset spatula on my arm. I heard the sound of my skin burning. I was shook for a second, then said "sorry, yes, chef" and carried on. People will say I should have said something, done something. I know. I've told myself that over and over since. But I didn't, at the time, for few reasons. It was the only time I was physically assaulted in a kitchen, and I made sure it stayed that way.
Another day, some spoiled fruit was being thrown out, and the chef asked me to have because "it's not available in your country anyway." They found that funny. Funny, too, how I'd be given 50kg of dough to work alone while 3 chefs de partie stood around cracking jokes about my height.
That experience broke me and had me in tears more times than I can count. Every morning on the metro to work, I'd tell myself today would be a good day, that I was going to enjoy work, enjoy Paris, that things will be fine, anyway I'd always been appreciated for my work before and I'd always given it everything. There were no reason for things not to work out. And still, most days ended with me drowning in self doubt the whole time, maybe I'm not good enough, what am I doing here, is pastry even for me, was leaving academics the right call, what am I gonna do. But I wasn't going to pack my bags and go home. This is temporary, I told myself. It'll get better. I'll get better.
Then Covid hit, and strange as it sounds, despite the disturbance it caused in my life, it's what got me out of there. Working hours dropped, the pace slowed, and I started to find myself again. A few weeks later the hotel shut down entirely. That was the end of it. Phew.
People ask me if I've watched ‘The Bear’. Yes I have. Then they ask if the industry is actually like that. My answer is yes and no: there are very healthy workplaces, and there are very toxic ones.
Despite the racism, despite everything, there were good moments in Paris too. 2 chefs in particular taught me more than they probably know, and I'll always remember them for it.
Would I do it again? A hard no. But no regrets. I believe things happen for a reason, and I came out of that experience having connected with some genuinely amazing people, having learned a lot about this industry, and having learned even more about myself.
What it takes from you.
Nobody tells you this part going in, not because they're hiding it, but because it doesn't fit in the sentence that sounds polished. So I’ll be very open about the trade.
Yes, I've worked in kitchens where perfection was demanded but humanity wasn't part of the deal. Where long hours were praised like a badge, pain was waved off, and staying quiet was safer than being honest. I've been broke in one of the most expensive cities in Europe, chasing excellence while quietly doing the math on how many days I had left before things got really bad lol. (Robbing a bank crossed my mind more than once hehe.)
And it costs you yourself, in the smallest ways that add up to something large. Time for you. Rest that isn't just recovery for the next shift. The version of a normal life your friends outside the industry got to have, evenings that are actually theirs, weekends that don't need recovering from. You can't have it all here, definitely not at the start of your career. Even your health becomes something you're negotiating with, after long hours there's barely space or energy left for anything else. And it happened to me because I encouraged it, I pushed a little more when my body was giving up, I went to work when I was burning up, I stayed at work after a 3rd degree burn, I said yes when all I wanted to say was no cause I didnt want my superiors to think I’m not motivated. On top of all of it, my body doesn't always follow the rhythm of the kitchen. Some mornings your hands don't want to open, and you open them anyway. Pain doesn't clock out when the last dessert leaves the pass. Fatigue doesn't wait for a day off.
It cost me people, too. Friendships that didn't last, not because anyone did anything wrong, but because I couldn't keep up my end of staying in touch. I know that's not unique to this industry… plenty of demanding careers do this to you.
What I've learned, very recently, is to prioritise. Health first. A small circle of people who actually get it. Real selfcare, not the performative kind. Learning, and more learning. You don't get to keep everything. But you do get to choose what you protect.
I've also lived the parts people romanticise: the beautiful plates, the precision, the discipline, the quiet pride of pulling off something clean and exact, or being part of a prestigious restaurant. I love pastry. I always will. That's never been the question. The question was never whether it's worth it, it's what you're willing to let it cost.
This one is for those who were told to push through without anyone telling them what pushing through would actually take from them.
Once a chef told me, “This is only a passion job, at the end you find yourself with no friends, no health, and no money.” He wasn’t wrong. He just missed ‘no sleep’ and ‘questionable relationship with sugar’ xD.
Is passion enough? No. Not on its own.
What gets you through is the people there for you, the boundaries you learn to hold, and the version of yourself you refuse to lose along the way.
That’s the real answer to the title. It’s not just about what it takes to make it in this industry: the skill, the effort, everything the craft demands of you to be good at it. It’s about what it takes from you in the process: how much you’re willing to sacrifice to get there, and to stay.