I didn't realise it when I was teenager,
but my first job taught me about colour combination, composition
and presentation, which has helped me as a chef.
When I was 15 I was a flower boy. I worked every Sunday
in a flower shop called Living Green opposite an Irish pub
in Carlton, Melbourne.
My mum, Lorraine, a florist, got me the job because she
worked in the same shop before branching out and buying
her own business, Strathmore Flowers, which my brother,
Luke, now owns.
It was a shitty job. The flowers stank and it was hard work.
I'd open the shop at 8am and there were about 100 buckets
of flowers I had to deal with. I had to scrub the bottom
of the stems, which get all slimy, give them fresh water
and haul the buckets of flowers outside and display them.
At 8am there were all sorts of people passing, including
drunks making their way home after drinking all night. They'd
stop to buy the missus some flowers, hoping it would get
them out of trouble. They'd hassle me for a good deal and
some would try to nick the flowers. Little Italian ladies
would come in on their way to the nearby cemetery.
I used to dread early customers. I'd have stuff all over
me and I'd be trying to serve them and get everything organised.
At 10.30am I'd get some relief. The florist would arrive
and send me out to get morning tea. There was a beautiful
patisserie around the corner called the French Lettuce.
It had the most fantastic pastries. It made chocolate nuns:
massive profiteroles filled with custard cream. They were
covered in that same shiny fondant that tops custard slices,
or snot blocks as we called them as kids.
I was paid $6 or $7 an hour and I used to spend half my
pay on pastries. That was the start of my love of food.
The job taught me the value of hard work. If I got all my
buckets out early, I would have a cruisy morning. If I was
a bit lazy, the customers would delay things and it'd be
a nightmare.
After morning tea I had to make up the mixed bunches, which
is when I would experiment with colours and learn about
presentation.
Being a flower boy wasn't a cool job. It was embarrassing.
The cool kids at school got jobs at Levi's selling jeans
and some worked at McDonald's. I was ridiculed, and my mates
were doubting my sexuality.
It was also my first experience of handling money and a
till. I've never been very organised. I'm more the creative
type, and I'd get stressed out about giving people the right
change and balancing the till.
The job also allowed me to save enough money to buy my first
car, a sky-blue Datsun 200B, for $1500. I went to Essendon
Grammar, so half my mates were driving brand new Hondas.
But that old Datsun gave me a sense of achievement because
I bought it myself. The car didn't last long though, only
about a year, because I was a young smart-arse: I crashed
it and wrote it off.
I worked at the flower shop until I was about 18, and I
came to love the flowers. My favourites are tulips because
of their crazy colours and peony roses because they are
full-bodied and luxurious. If someone were to give me flowers
I'd prefer sunflowers, because they are bright, vibrant
and exciting.
When I left school I became an apprentice chef earning $180
a week. I had a mate who was a good chef and I admired the
lifestyle, the tattoos, long hair and the eating. But being
an apprentice wasn't glamorous. On a Saturday night my mates
would be out partying and I'd be standing behind a buffet
with a silly hat on, carving roast for some fat American.
I wanted to travel, and mum said that if I was serious she'd
match whatever I saved. I left Australia for Europe with
my best mate when I was 21 with $11,000. Mum regrets it
now because I haven't come home to stay since.
When I'm overseas working and feeling homesick, I subconsciously
walk into a flower shop and buy flowers. The flowers and
the smell remind me of my mum and of home.
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