Edible Artists Network Magazine Fall 2015 | Page 15

Elizabeth Hotel in Montreal. Just a few days after my arrival,
I learned about the upcoming Salon Culinaire de Quebec, a
very high class competition for chocolate sculptures. Cocky
and ready to take over the world, I filled out an application
and entered as the youngest participant ever. Everyone
advised me not to do it and told me to save myself the
embarrassment. But, I decided to adhere to what my dad
recommended, “Son there will always will be people telling
you, you can’t do that, which leaves you with two choices.
You either prove them right or prove them wrong.” Again,
I went with my dad’s wisdom. Over the next few weeks, I
stayed many nights after my shift and worked on my show
piece through the night. To everyone’s surprise, I won first
place and was handed a humungous trophy and cash prize.
I remember being escorted by security upon entering
the hotel the next day and led to the executive chef’s
office. Chef Merard was old school - a true French Chef of
enormous stature - tall, broad shouldered and a big belly.
His office walls were filled from top to bottom with awards,
certificates, recognition plaques and photos of him with
every possible world leader, celebrity and the pope. He
looked at me and in a very serious tone of voice told me,
“Young man do you know how many people you pissed
off?” I replied, “Chef no I don’t chef!” He continued, “You
kicked a lot of egos to the curb and beat up some wellknown, established Master Chocolatiers!” I could tell, as
calm and collected he was, he had an absolute field day
with it.
As a result, I was asked to become a guest teacher at the
culinary institute for Chocolate Art. So here I was, 22 years
young, teaching students my age how to temper chocolate,
and instead of milking cows and going to bed early in my
little Swiss farmer’s village, I was up late, clubbing all night,
chasing girls and making money. But, my two year work
permit ran out quickly and I was not able to extend it. So
I was faced with the reality of going back to my village
and hanging out with the five friends I went to school
with. (That’s how small my town was; there were six kids
in my class including me). I really was not excited about

this situation after having the time of my life in Montreal,
plus I really enjoyed working with chocolate and wanted
to learn more about it. So I had to come up with a new
venture and really quickly at that. It didn’t take me long in
my desperation to avoid returning to Switzerland to figure
out that if I got on board cruise ships and worked over
international waters, I wouldn’t need a work permit.
Two weeks later, I found myself in Turku, Finland, on board
the newest addition to the Royal Viking Cruise Line, The
Royal Viking Sun. After the virgin cruise, a crossing from
Scandinavia to the east coast of the United States and a
Panama Canal run, I was promoted to Executive Chef and
transferred to the Royal Viking Sky. As my new itinerary
would bring me to the Caribbean, South America and
parts of Africa, this was my guaranteed ticket to the core
of cocoa production, plantations and farming. Now at only
23 I was sailing the world’s oceans, heading right into the
heart of cocoa bean soil. After just a few cruises, my voyage
was abruptly cut short. Ambitious to impress in my new
position, I had scored the highest ratings ever from the
collected passenger surveys and reviews in my department.
Subsequently, I was pulled from the vessel and transferred
to the corporate offices. All of sudden, I was sitting in a
chair at the desk with flickering neon lights over my head,
writing menus, calculating food costs and researching new
vendors. I was surrounded by walls when walking from
one meeting to another through corridors, along doors
labeled with names of corporate and high positioned top
executives. There were fake plastic plants, posters of the
cruise lines port of calls constantly reminding me where I
should have been, and stale birthday cakes once a month
in the conference room. Now I clearly understood what
my dad meant when he said, I will fail miserably at it. It
had nothing to do with how much or little money I made,
where I was in the world or how many hours I worked. He
was talking about the one thing and one thing only - my
happiness! And it wasn’t happening. It felt like someone
was chipping