I'm Going to Be a Chef

Liam is sixteen and he lives in Belfast. He loves cooking. Every Sunday, he makes dinner for the whole family: curry, pasta, roast chicken, even bread.

In May, Liam told his parents his plan. "I'm going to leave school next year, and I'm going to work in restaurants. I'm going to be a chef." His mother put down her cup.

"You'll change your mind," said his father. "Everybody says that at sixteen. Next year you'll want to be a footballer." His mother was more careful. "Kitchens are hard, Liam. You'll work every night and every weekend. You'll hate it."

Liam didn't argue. Instead, he got a summer job at a busy restaurant near the river. His parents smiled. "Good," said his dad. "Two weeks, and he'll come home and say it's too hard."

The job started in June. Liam washed hundreds of plates. He cut onions until his eyes hurt. He burned his hand twice. The head chef shouted at everybody, all the time. Liam came home at midnight and fell asleep on the sofa with his shoes on.

His mother waited for the end. It didn't come. In July, Liam was cooking the vegetables. In August, he was making the sauces. On the last day, the head chef said, "Come back at Christmas. I'll pay you more."

In September, Liam made Sunday dinner again: a fish dish from the restaurant. His father ate everything. Then he said, "OK. Maybe you aren't going to change your mind." "I'm not," said Liam. "But I'm going to finish school first. The chef says a good chef needs to read, too."