Illustration by EUGENE CUBILLO

Meet Gulsen, my kitchen assistant. I just learned three weeks ago that she was beaten for 15 years by a sickly, alcoholic husband. She ran away to Turkey until he pleaded and she returned on the condition that he will never lay his hands on her again. The freedom from physical abuse turned into an economic slavery from a man too weak to feed himself and his family. Today, she is the bank, the manager of her little clan, the man of the house. Gulsen speaks very little French (though improving) and I speak zero Bulgarian. Despite the language deficiency, our partnership is quite efficient. I think that we try instead to read each other’s minds. We rarely fight and if we do, each one murmurs her irritation in her own language. A verbal confrontation is almost always avoided. When I share my recipes, I mix French, English and my sign language and she excitedly notes them down in Bulgarian. Her favourites are brownies (to make) and chocolate muffins (to eat). I thought it would be impossible to find someone who works like me until I met Gulsen. She has become an important “ingredient” in the early success of the shop but more than that she has become my right hand, my shoulder to cry on, my nanny, and my friend.

May you stumble on a Gulsen, who will raise you up when everything seems to crumble. (And for my male friends, may you stumble on a Gulsen in a French maid uniform).