Once upon a restaurant

Life in the restaurant industry is hard. One has to be strong, stronger if you are a woman. Contrary to popular belief men are better chefs then women. Why? Because they follow the recipe by heart and do not let emotions go through their cooking. I worked very hard to earn money to open a restaurant. Once I managed to do so, it quickly became popular. I have luck by my side I guess, or a good chef. I think it is the second. Meet him when I started my tiny restaurant, and we became friends very fast. Who am I? My name is Emily Ward. I am 33 years old. Small business owner, or medium, depending on who you ask. And a foodie, because that is how it all started. My best friend is John McLaughlin. Best chef in this side of the world, if you ask me. And know a thing or two about loyalty, friendship and restaurant business. Growing up was hard. I worked my way up any way I could think of. Because, you see, in school there are mainly two factions: the jocks and there are the nerds on the other side. Faith, or luck has it that they don’t bother the other ones that much. I was the workaholic one. I did ok in school, but had a job after. Worked hard, kept my head down. I kept my head down because my life depended on being submissive. Because I depended on someone for my money. And that someone had a bucked-load of managers and assistants that mostly put a whip on us, lower employs. They made us work longer hours, paid the extra hours only from time to time. Now, you might think that I am talking rubbish. But be sure to find out, because not every job, and certainly not everything is clean and light in this world. For the abuse I took. And the hardship of being submissive. Because believe me, I am a little spitfire with my 170 cm height. I made it. I made enough money to be able to make a loan. Wish I could tell you that I had all the money and make it a perfect little story. But this isn’t it. This one I can call real, ugly and beautiful; light, dark and grey. If you ever stop, and hear a scream at night, on Tulip street. Do not fear, do not ever call the cops, because it is I. Me and my big mouth. My restaurant isn’t on that street, the main entrance faces the Republic boulevard. The back entrance, where the kitchen is, it is facing Tulip street. Enough about me. I guess you are wondering how I met my best friend John. John, the Irish, the shamrock called McLaughlin. Because in many ways he is my shamrock, my luck.