Like a firefighter

Of course I would have to pick the week before my exams to try out a new kitchen for an internship and volunteer to accompany Sara's class on a field trip.

There are many things about the restaurant I just came from that would make it an ideal place for me to work in: it's near my house, it's small (there is only the chef in the kitchen and his partner in the dining room), it's super clean, the food is decent, the interior is minimalist. However, of all the little reasons I would not work there (they put cream in their risotto, the dessert I had was underwhelming), the main one would be that the chef smokes "like a firefighter" as they say here (comme un pompier). All morning, it was cigarette after cigarette. Granted, there were not a lot of clients today so he had more time to smoke that usual. But when I saw the lit cig a few inches behind my back as I was applying myself with a pail of jerusalem artichokes (yes, again), I knew I could not work there. I guess I am getting picky, or perhaps I was spoiled with my two first experiences where the kitchens were spotless and everything was by the book. So yes, I can be "psychorigide" in the kitchen, which vaguely translates as ... anal (in the Freudian sense of course). I just believe that if there is a proper way to conduct a particular operation, then why not do just that and augment your chances for the best possible result. I realize that this is not brain surgery and that no one will die if a vegetable is peeled over a chopping board and not a poubelle de table (table trash bin) but I think that there are a few good habits I have picked up and don't want to compromise.